“Are things getting less entangled?” I asked.
“Not a bit of it!” he said, “more entangled than ever! It ’s true, I have an idea—”
“What ’s that?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you what it is just at present—it ’s an idea involving the life or death of two persons at least.”
“Do you think there were accomplices?”
“I don’t think it—”
We fell into silence. Presently he went on:—
“It was a bit of luck, our falling in with that examining magistrate and his Registrar, eh? What did I tell you about that revolver?”
His head was bent down, he had his hands in his pockets, and he was whistling. After a while I heard him murmur:—
“Poor woman!”