"I mean," said Torry, "that Mr. Grent has taken a longer journey than you are aware of."
"A longer journey? How do you know?"
"Because I am a detective."
Leighbourne became even paler than before, and pushed back his chair with a quick, nervous movement. "A detective!" he muttered faintly. "Why--why does a detective call on me?"
"To inform you of Mr. Grent's death," interposed Darrel, astonished at this unnecessary display of emotion.
"Dead! Mr. Grent dead!" Frederick Leighbourne rose in an indescribable state of emotion. "Why, on Friday last, when he said good-bye to me, he was in excellent health."
"Health has nothing to do with the death," said Torry drily. "Have you heard of this Mortality-lane murder?"
"Yes, yes; that is, I saw--I saw something about it in the evening papers," stammered the banker hurriedly; "but it has nothing--nothing----"
"It has everything to do with Mr. Grent, if that is what you mean," said Darrel. "On Sunday morning last, shortly before one o'clock, your partner was murdered!"
"Murdered!" Leighbourne's voice leaped an octave. "Oh my God!"