“New science?” Orbit raised his brows. “Do you mean the crime-detecting machines imported from some of the European capitals? But that was some years ago.”
“No, sir.” Dennis’ thoughts went swiftly back to more than one experience he had had with automatic informers in company with McCarty during earlier days. “This is no test of your breathing, nor pulse, nor sweat-glands, nor yet how quick you can think when a lie comes in handy. ’Tis the crime itself that tells nowadays what manner of man committed it and what kind of people he sprung from; I’ve no doubt but that soon they’ll have it down so pat they can tell a guy’s color and religion and politics by the turn of a knife or the course of a bullet! It’s a wonder anybody got hung at all in the old days!”
“Mr. Orbit?” McCarty unannounced appeared at last in the doorway. “Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. Has Sir Philip Devereux gone?”
“He sailed less than an hour ago.” Orbit eyed him inquiringly. “Your associate tells me you have something to ask me.”
“About Hughes, it was. He’d not been looking so well lately. Do you know had he been taking any medicine?”
“Really, I couldn’t say.” He shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me to ask him!”
“That’s that, then!” McCarty seemed lost in thought for a minute. “Who is it drinks milk in the household?”
“Milk?” Orbit smiled. “Fu Moy, perhaps, but you will have to ask him. The only one I know to be fond of it is Vite, the monkey; it is one of his main articles of diet.”
As though the mention of his name had summoned him, a little brownish-gray shape sidled in over the doorsill, paused for a moment and then sprang through the air to land lightly on Orbit’s shoulder and sit chattering impertinently at the intruders.
“Silence, Vite! Where are your manners?” His owner stroked him gently. “Why do you ask about the milk, McCarty?”