"If it is common rumor that my father and myself were seen at Mr. Magruder's place of business on the night of his death, why do not the police of the city take action?"
"It is not common rumor," stated Mr. Sparhawk. "Far from it. There is a whisper going about that a woman is somehow concerned; but it is only a whisper, and a vague one. Neither your father's name nor yours has been mentioned. And the reason for this," Mr. Sparhawk smoothed the nap of his hat with careful touch, "is that, excepting those who saw you, no one knows them in connection with the matter but myself."
The girl regarded him quietly.
"In that you are wrong," she said. "There is, at least, one other person who knows."
"No!" said Mr. Sparhawk, and his leisurely manner became suddenly swift. "No!"
"At least one other," repeated the girl. "He mentioned it to me several days ago!"
"May I ask," and Mr. Sparhawk tilted his head sideways with his bird-like manner, "who it was?"
"Captain Weir," said the girl.
"I see," said Mr. Sparhawk, softly; "I see."
And when he had bidden the girl good night, and the maid had shown him down-stairs, and he stood in Water Street, buttoning up his coat against the chill air, Mr. Sparhawk once more carried between his brows the little frown of interrogation.