As they spoke in guarded tones, they had reissued from the hospital and now stood on the steps, where the lamp-light fell full on Snell’s face. Starr’s keen eyes were fixed on it, but it revealed nothing.
“A cigarette case? Whose was it?” asked Snell.
“Don’t you know? You’ve got it, haven’t you?”
Starr strove to speak in a casual tone, but it was difficult to control his voice. Of all the many sensational cases he had come across this was the first that had touched him personally, and the horrible fear that Roger Carling might in some way be mixed up in it, and that Snell knew it, was still strong upon him.
“Are you trying to cross-examine me?” asked the detective dryly.
Possibly for the first time in his life under such circumstances Austin lost his self-possession.
“See here, Snell, what’s the use of fencing?” he asked hotly. “You’ve got that case right enough. It’s Rog——”
“Stop!” interrupted Snell imperatively, though without raising his voice. “I’ve mentioned no name. Take my advice, Mr. Starr, and don’t you mention one either. I’ve told you already that the less said the better, and if you can’t take the hint—well, that’s your affair.”
Austin bit his lip, inwardly cursing himself for his indiscretion. If he had held his tongue about his knowledge of Roger Carling’s movements he might, sooner or later, have got some hint of what was in the detective’s mind. Now, in all probability he would get no further information at all.