"And that fact?"
"Why did Fellenger get a negro in Tooley's Alley to tattoo him."
Garth reflected.
"I can only conclude that a secret--"
"Rubbish!" said Fanks, contemptuously, "you and your secret societies. I tell you that is all nonsense. Even assuming that the cross is an emblem of some association--which I do not grant for a moment--we have proved that it was not tattooed on your cousin's arm when he went to keep his appointment; therefore he could not at that time have been a member of your mythical society. If, on the other hand, he was being made a member--a ceremony which would not have taken place in a low pot-house--why should he be killed? These societies admit living men to work their ends; they have no use for dead bodies."
"That is all true enough, Fanks. We must reject the idea of a secret society. But in an affair of robbery and murder--"
"In such an affair, the method of procedure would be different. A bludgeon--a sand-bag--a knife--any of these weapons if you please. But if this negro had designed to rob Fellenger, he need not have ingratiated himself into his confidence to permit the performance of so delicate an operation as that of the poisoned needle. No. We must reject that theory also."
"Then what do you think was the motive of the murder?"
"I am not a detective out of a novel, Mr. Garth. Ask me an easier question."
He rose from his seat and began to walk to and fro. "The whole mystery lies in the tattooing," he muttered to himself. "If I can only find out why Sir Gregory permitted that cross to be tattooed; and why he went to Tooley's Alley to have it done, I shall discover the assassin."