“Then I can tell you my real purpose in setting you up in business. Burke, I am a criminologist. I have my own way of dealing with crime. Those who work for me must always obey me implicitly—”
Burke nodded.
“- even though they may not understand my motives.” Clarendon’s voice was firm, almost severe. “Even though they may face danger!”
A look of enjoyment appeared upon Burke’s visage. He sensed adventure. The smile remained upon George Clarendon’s lips, as though the man with the masklike face knew what was passing in Burke’s mind.
It was the sealing of a bargain. From that moment, the ex-reporter was the henchman of George Clarendon. For a full minute the men looked at each other with mutual understanding. Then Clarendon pointed to the clippings on the desk.
“You have read them thoroughly?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What do you think of the case?”
“It’s an unusual one,” said Burke, thoughtfully puffing at his pipe. “I’ve gone into it carefully, Mr.
Clarendon. It seems obvious that Chatham murdered Wilkinson, yet—”