“Just as I told you.”
Sheriff Barnes still appeared dubious. Sergeant Holcomb made no attempt to disguise the contemptuous disbelief on his face.
“Did you,” Sheriff Barnes asked, “know that Fremont C. Sabin had been back of an attempt to expose organized vice and graft in the Metropolitan Police?”
“Good heavens, no!” Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb, his face almost a brick-red, said, “I didn’t give you that information to be bandied around, Sheriff.”
Barnes said, without taking his eyes from Mason, “I’m not bandying it around. You’ve probably read, Mason, of the confidential advices which the Grand Jury have been receiving, advices which have caused it to start an inquiry against some persons who are prominent politically.”
“I’ve heard something about it,” Mason admitted cautiously.
“And you knew that some private citizen was back of this campaign to get information?”
“I’d heard something of the sort.”
“Did you have any idea that that person was Fremont C. Sabin?”