"No. He never spoke of his private relations."
"Well, he has a daughter, Miss Eva Strode. You must have read her name in the papers when the case was reported."
"I did," said Parkins after a pause; "yes?"
"I'm engaged to her."
Parkins rose and looked astonished. "That's a queer start."
"You'll hear of something queerer if you will answer my questions."
"What sort of questions?"
Allen debated within himself if he should trust Parkins all in all. It seemed a rash thing to do, and yet there was something about the man which showed that he would not break faith. Horace was just the sort of companion Allen needed to search after Butsey in the slums of Whitechapel. It was no good telling him anything, unless all were told, and yet Allen hesitated to bring in the name of his father. Finally he resolved to say as little as he could about him, and merely detail the broad facts of the murder, and of the theft of the hand, without mentioning names. "Parkins," he said frankly and with a keen look, "can I trust you?"
"I guess so," said the big man serenely. "I mean what I say. You can take my word without oaths, I reckon."
"Very well, then," said Allen with a sudden impulse to make a clean breast of it; "sit down again and answer a few questions."