"I have little hope of that," said Fanks, dolefully. "He has concealed his trail too cleverly," and he chuckled inwardly as he saw the two faces brighten.
"Well! well! well! We will say no more, Mr. Fanks," said Renshaw, in a patronising tone. "I deemed it my duty to let you know that I go to India to-night. I shall not return to England for many years, as I propose exploring Thibet. Good evening; I am delighted that my fears that I was being watched have proved to be groundless."
But Fanks was not to be got rid of so easily. He wished to ask Turnor a few questions, for he believed that the little man knew all about this mysterious Renshaw. However, he made his examination carefully, as he did not wish to startle the pair, but rather to lull their suspicions, so that he might the more easily carry out his plans. He had already decided upon his next step.
"You were not in London at the time of the murder, Dr. Turnor?" he asked.
"No," replied the doctor, promptly. "If I had been, I should have been summoned by Mrs. Boazoph. As it was, Renshaw went."
"Yes, I saw Renshaw," said Fanks; "and I believe that he was right in his theory that the crime was due to a secret society."
"What makes you agree with my theory?" said Renshaw, quickly.
"Well," drawled Fanks, keeping an eye on both men, "you see I can't find out the meaning of that tattooed cross. It must be the work of a society, else it would not have been obliterated. If I could only find out what that cross means I would hang someone." Renshaw wiped the perspiration off his bald forehead and laughed in an uneasy manner. "I wish I could help you," he said, "but I know nothing about the cross, or the society."
"And what do you say, Dr. Turnor?"
"Nothing--was away on that night. Read about cross--papers. Queer."