"It's simply a knack, I believe, if you catch a fellow in a certain spot."
Supposing that some wretched tramp were arrested and accused? Some dirty fellow from behind a hedge? All the tramps, all the ruffians of the world were now a danger. The accusation of another would bring the truth from him of course. His dark eyes moved across the room to Craven's white, tired face. Within himself there moved now with every hour stirring more acutely this desire for life. If only they would let him alone . . . let the body alone . . . let it all alone. Let the world sink back to its earlier apathy.
His voice was resentful.
"Carfax wasn't a good fellow, Craven. No, I know—Nil nini bonum . . . and all the rest of it. But it looks a bit like a judgment—judgment from Heaven."
Craven broke in.
"But now—just now when his body's lying there. I know there were things he did. He was a bit wild, of course——"
"Yes, there was a girl, a girl in Midgett's tobacconist's shop—his daughter. Carfax ruined her, body and soul . . . ruined her. He boasted of it. Looks like a judgment."
"I don't care." Craven sprang up. "Carfax may have done things, but he was a friend of mine, and a good friend. They must catch the man, they must. It's a duty they owe us all. To have such a man as that hanging about. Why, it might happen to any of us. You must help me, Dune."
"Help you?"
"Yes—help them to catch the murderer. We must think of everything that could make a clue. Perhaps this girl. I had heard something about her, of course; but perhaps there was another lover, a rival or something, or perhaps her father——"