The Professor then related at length all the particulars of the crime known to him.
“And on the strength of that evidence,” said the old man, when Mr. Norris had finished, “they arrested Mrs. Booth—the Queen of Sydney they used to call her at the bar. The dunderheads! Why, I would not trust them to catch a rat for me. You say the room of the crime remains untouched, just as it was? Let us go over and see it.”
An hour later, under the guidance of Police-Constable Hobbs, who had the key and charge of the room, the two gentlemen entered the home of Mrs. Delfosse.
Mr. Hobbs eyed the newcomer curiously. Who was he, and why had he come under the guidance of the Professor? Perhaps some expert detective brought from Melbourne or one of the other colonies.
To a casual observer, Soft Sam would have seemed to pass into the house, up the stairs, and into the fatal room without so much as a glance about him. But Mr. Hobbs was not deceived in this way. He noted the quick eyes of the old man, saw, examined, took in everything. Only a moment he paused at the door of the room, and then passed in as though it was of no further interest. This surprised the policeman, who had examined and wondered at that door for hours as the seat of the hidden mystery.
The old man crossed to the fire-place, gave a pressure with his hand to the register grate, then stepped to the window, looked out, glanced at the catch, and said almost impulsively—
“It’s as plain as kiss your hand.”
“What is?” interjected P.-C. Hobbs imprudently.
“That the police force are a lot of mokes,” continued the old man, turning about; and in another tone, “We may as well go back, Professor.”
“What, already? You have hardly seen the place!”