"Oh, I know who you think is guilty, Mr. Fanks. All the same, I do not agree with you; and I should not be surprised if this Garth turned out to be the real criminal."
"Garth isn't a negro."
"I guess you have your own ideas about that negro, Mr. Fanks."
The detective smiled and rose from his seat. "I guess I have, Mr. Crate. You are improving, my friend; and you are beginning to see further than your nose. I should not wonder if I made something of you yet. So you suspect Garth?"
With becoming modesty, but a good deal of emphasis, Crate asserted that he did, and moreover said that if permitted by his superior officer he would have great pleasure in proving his case against the barrister. To this Fanks assented readily enough.
"Prove your case by all means, Crate," he said, dryly. "I do not agree with you in the least; all the same I am always open to correction. One thing only I ask. You must tell me all you do, all you discover, as I do not wish you to cross my trail."
This Crate assented to without demur, and Fanks departed to Duke Street, where he changed his clothes for the more stylish ones of Rixton. Thence he went to the Athenian Club, and, as he expected, found Garth in the smoking-room. The lean lawyer looked so haggard and worn out that Fanks wondered if there might not be more in Crate's theory than appeared at first sight. But he rejected this idea almost as soon as it crossed his mind; he was confident that the true assassin of Sir Gregory was--but that revelation comes later. In the meantime he greeted Garth with his customary coolness, and sat down beside him with a view to learning all that had transpired during his absence.
"Were you waiting for me here?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Not exactly," replied Garth, with some hesitation. "I hoped that you would come in here sooner or later, and I wished to see you. But at present I am waiting for Herbert Vaud."
"Really! Do you expect him shortly?"