"I can add nothing to what has already appeared in the newspapers," replied Jones, as Norton opened his batteries of inquiries.
"Mr. Jones, I have known your master several years, as you will recollect. There never was a woman in this house, not even among the servants. There are two in the other room. Who are they? And what are they doing here?"
Jones shook his head.
"Well, I can easily find out."
Jones barred his path, and for the first time Norton gazed into the eyes of the man servant. They were as hard as gun metal.
"My dear Mr. Jones, you ought to know that sooner or later we reporters find out what we seek."
Jones appeared to reflect. "Mr. Norton, you claim to be a friend of Mr. Hargreave?"
"I do not claim. I am. More than that I do not believe he is dead. He was deep. He had some relentless enemies—I don't know where from or what kind—and he is pretending he's dead till this blows over and is forgotten."
"You are not going to say that in your newspaper?" Jones was visibly agitated.
"Not if I can prove it."