Gebb in this manner argued the case for and against Ferris, for the young man's conduct displayed such a mixture of caution and rashness as to perplex the detective. Still it was no use, as he well knew, to waste his time in making bricks without straw, when the arrest of the culprit might enable him to gain a frank explanation of these obviously silly actions; so Gebb, on the evidence of the pawning, procured a warrant and proceeded to take Ferris in charge. As a further mark of the man's folly, he had given a wrong name but a right address; and Gebb, proceeding to Chelsea, asked at an Eden Street house for Mr. Brown, only to be told that Mr. Ferris was the sole lodger in it. The naïve simplicity of this novice in crime almost made the detective swear to his innocence on the spot.
"Confound it!" said Gebb, disconcerted by this, "the man has gone about the pawning so openly that I really believe he is guiltless of the crime. Either that or he's a born fool, although even that is doubtful Miss Wedderburn is not the sort of woman to love an idiot, although she does protect one. Seems to me as I'm dealing with a lot of crazy folk."
Ferris chanced to be absent at the time of Gebb's visit, but was expected back every moment; so, on intimating that he wished to see the artist on a matter of importance, and would wait for his return, the detective was shown into the studio. It was a bare apartment of some size, with ample light, but few decorations. Ferris seemed to be rather a hard worker than an artistic dandy, for there were scattered around none of the knickknacks and "bibelots" which many painters love to collect. There was a sprawling clay-figure near a carpeted daïs for the model, specimens of work on the walls, plaster heads and unfinished pictures lying about in disorder, and on the easel, beside a rusty iron stove, a landscape picture in progress of painting. Altogether the studio looked anything but that of a Sybarite, and in no wise accorded with Prain's description of Ferris as a scamp, for scamps as a rule owe their doubtful reputations to their assiduity in gratifying all their tastes, the best and the worst.
"Yet he must have been hard pushed for money to murder that old woman in order to rob her," said Gebb. "So, if he is economical here, I expect he is wasteful in other ways. Hullo! here's a letter on the writing-table with the Norminster postmark. Empty!" he added in disgust, finding no letter inside. "Yet it is from that girl, I am certain. The handwriting is that of a woman. Hum! And yesterday's date, I see by the postmark. She had been writing to warn him. She knows all about the matter. I wish I could find the letter. She's a deep one, that girl, and as sharp as a needle. She wouldn't have bungled the murder as Ferris has done."
With this doubtful tribute of admiration, Gebb calmly proceeded to turn over the papers on the writing-table, and examine the drawers. But he could find no letter from Edith amongst the loose papers, and the drawers proved to be locked, which showed that Ferris was a more cautious man than his conduct in pawning the necklace indicated. How far Gebb would have proceeded with his search, or how successful he would have been, it is hard to say; for just as he was casting his eyes towards a bureau which, he thought, might contain papers likely to illuminate Ferris and his dark ways, the door opened and the man himself entered with a brisk step. He appeared agitated and rather pale, but on the whole composed and business-like.
For a moment or so he did not speak, but looked at Gebb with no very friendly expression of countenance. On his side, the detective scrutinized the face of the newcomer with close attention, to see in what degree he corresponded to the descriptions of Prain and Martin. He beheld a tall and slender man, with an intelligent expression and brilliant black eyes. On his short upper lip there was a small pointed moustache, which gave him a rather military appearance, and on his right cheek a purple mark, the size of a sixpence, but which--his skin being so dark--did not show very conspicuously. He was dressed quietly and in good style, and to all appearance was a man who respected himself too much to indulge in the profligacy with which he was credited by Prain. Gebb was rather favourably impressed by him than otherwise, and could not help regretting his errand.
"I am told you are waiting to see me," said Ferris, civilly. "May I inquire your business?"
"Is your name Arthur Ferris?"
"It is. May I ask what----"
"I arrest you in the Queen's name!" interrupted Gebb, laying one hand on the young man's shoulder, and with the other drawing forth his warrant.