The taxi-cab driver held up a hand and tapped a brass ring on its third finger.
“Where I wears that ring, gentlemen,” he said triumphantly, “he wears a fine diamond—a reg’lar swell ’un. That morning, when he got into my cab, he rested his hand a minute on the door, and the light from one o’ the lamps across the street shone full on the stone. Now, then, when this here Barthorpe was pointed out to me in Orchard Street, a few days ago, as the nephew of Jacob Herapath, he was talking to another gentleman, and as they stood there he lighted a cigar, and when he put his hand up, I see that ring again—no mistaking it, guv’nor! He was the man. And, from what I’ve read, it seems to me it was him as put on his uncle’s coat and hat after the old chap was settled, and——”
“If I were you, I’d keep those theories to myself—yet awhile, at any rate,” said Triffitt. “In fact—I want you to. Here!” he went on, removing the glass and pushing the folded banknotes towards the taxi-cab driver, “put those in your pocket. And keep your mouth shut about having seen and told me. I shan’t make any use—public use, anyway—of what you’ve said, just yet. If the old gentleman, Tertius, comes to you, or the police come along with or without him, you can tell ’em anything you like—everything you’ve told me if you please—it doesn’t matter, now. But you’re on no account to tell them that I’ve seen you and that you’ve spilt to me—do you understand?”
The informant understood readily enough, and promised with equal readiness, even going so far as to say that that would suit him down to the ground.
“All right,” said Triffitt, “keep a still tongue as regards me, and there’ll be another fiver for you. Now, Carver, we’ll get.”
Outside Triffitt gave his companion’s arm a confidential squeeze.
“Things are going well!” he said. “I wasn’t a bit surprised at what that fellow told me—I expected it. What charms me is that Barthorpe Herapath, who is certainly to be strongly suspected, is in touch with Burchill—I didn’t tell you that I met him on the stairs at Calengrove Mansions this afternoon. Of course, he was going to see my next-door neighbour! What about, friend Carver?”
“If you could answer your own last question, we should know something,” replied Carver.
“We know something as it is,” said Triffitt. “Enough for me to tell Markledew, anyway. I don’t see so far into all this, myself, but Markledew’s the sort of chap who can look through three brick walls and see a mole at work in whatever’s behind the third, and he’ll see something in what I tell him, and I’ll do the telling as soon as he comes down tomorrow morning.”
Markledew listened to Triffitt’s story next day in his usual rapt silence. The silence remained unbroken for some time after Triffitt had finished. And eventually Markledew got up from his elbow-chair and reached for his hat.