"Dr. Renshaw did not go to India," was Crate's next remark.
"Quite so. Renshaw having resumed his real name of Binjoy, is now at Mere Hall--in safety, as he thinks. I can lay hands on him any time; but I can't lay hands on that negro. You must do that, Crate."
"But the negro isn't in India, Mr. Fanks?"
"In my humble opinion--I may be wrong--he is," replied the other. "See here, Crate. Dr. Binjoy must know that as I am employed by Sir Louis to hunt down the assassin, I must see him sooner or later. If I see the new baronet, I can hardly help seeing his 'Fidus Achates.' Now, although Binjoy has--as he thinks--destroyed all trace of his connection with Renshaw, yet he cannot quite alter his personal appearance, which is rather noticeable. He may shave off his beard so as to make himself look younger; he may even get rid of his stoutness; but he cannot alter his voice or entirely change his pompous manner. He must, therefore guess that I may be struck with his resemblance to Renshaw. In some way--for I give him the credit of being clever--he will endeavour to account for the resemblance. I do not know the particular lie he will stick to; but of one thing I am certain;--he will keep up the deception that Renshaw is in India by means of prepared letters written to Dr. Turnor."
"It is my opinion, Crate," continued Fanks, solemnly, "that Binjoy has got rid of his negro servant by sending him to Bombay; and, from Bombay the negro will forward letters--already written--to Turnor of Great Auk Street. I may be wrong, of course, and I do not wish to act in a hurry. But the first letter I see from India, purporting to be from Binjoy-Renshaw, that very day you start for Bombay to look for the negro who is at present missing. I am content to stake my professional reputation that you will find him there."
"Well, you are a 'cute one, Mr. Fanks," said Crate in an admiring tone. "I should never have thought of that."
This tribute of respect from Crate put an end to the conversation for the time being. Fanks went to his chambers, packed a few clothes, and repaired to Waterloo Station. The detective who was watching there, assured him that Hersham had not been seen on the platform; and Fanks went down to Taxton-on-Thames quite satisfied that he had what the Americans call "the inside running."
He amused himself while in the train by making notes in his pocket book; and with figuring out the questions which he intended to ask Miss Colmer. Notwithstanding his assurance to Crate, he was very doubtful if he would be able to discover the assassin of Sir Gregory, for the further he went into the case the more intricate did it become. So far as he could see at the present moment, the person who had killed the Tooley Alley victim had every chance of escaping the gallows. All that the detective could do was to go on in the darkness; and trust to any stray gleam of light which might reveal the assassin; but at present, he could not see an inch ahead of him.
On arriving at Taxton-on-Thames he drove at once to the local post office; and, as he expected, he there found a telegram, which the police had succeeded in delaying. It was addressed to Anne Colmer, and ran as follows: "Detective coming; answer him nothing." There was no name; but from the context, and the place whence it had been sent--High Street, St. John's Wood--Fanks had no difficulty in guessing that it had come from Hersham.
"Very good," he murmured. "What Hersham knows, the girl knows. I failed to get the information from him; I may from her."