"That will do for the present," replied the inspector. "We may find it necessary to charge you with a more serious crime later."
"Well, all I can say is that you've got the wrong man. But that is nothing new for you chaps," he added with a sneer.
"Surely you are not going to charge him with the murder?" said the girl imploringly.
The inspector's reply was merely to warn the prisoner that anything he said might be used in evidence against him at his trial.
"He had nothing whatever to do with it—he knows nothing about it," protested the girl. "If you let him go I'll tell you who murdered Sir Horace."
"Who murdered him?" asked the inspector.
"Hill," was the reply.
CHAPTER XIII
Doris Fanning got off a Holborn tram at King's Cross, and with a hasty glance round her as if to make sure she was not followed, walked at a rapid pace across the street in the direction of Caledonian Road. She walked up that busy thoroughfare at the same quick gait for some minutes, then turned into a narrow street and, with another suspicious look around her, stopped at the doorway of a small shop a short distance down.
The shop sold those nondescript goods which seem to afford a living to a not inconsiderable class of London's small shopkeepers. The windows and the shelves were full of dusty old books and magazines, trumpery curios and cheap china, second-hand furniture and a collection of miscellaneous odds and ends. A thick dust lay over the whole collection, and the shop and its contents presented a deserted and dirty appearance. Moreover, the door was closed as though customers were not expected. The girl tried the door and found it locked—a fact which seemed to indicate that customers were not even desired. After another hasty look up and down the street she tapped sharply on the door in a peculiar way.