Here he pushed the book aside and his hand went to a brace of volumes at the end of the table.
“I put in some little time last night,” said he, “dipping into Humboldt and Vater. There is a vast difference between their keen, uncompromising intellects and the credulous minds of Gall and his followers. And yet it is a bit startling to trace a line between them which runs——”
But here he looked up and met the inquiring look of the big man with a smile.
“You’re having a peep behind the scenes,” he said. “You’re seeing me deep in a mass of preliminary speculations, and not at all sure as to where they are to lead.”
“But,” said Mr. Scanlon, with confidence, “you see something.”
“Not very clearly,” and the keen eyes glittered with interest, “but I think I see the mist breaking away at some points, and before to-day is done I may be able to get my ranges. Perhaps by the time I get Fuller’s second report I’ll have enough data to finish the case at a blow.”
“Good,” said Mr. Scanlon. He got up and shook the crime specialist by the hand. “That cheers me up. You see,” earnestly, “I’m as keen on this thing as if it were my own—maybe more so. This boy is hard pressed, and has called on me for help. I don’t want to fail him. I don’t want it proved that he’s made a mistake.”
“We’ll do our best,” said Ashton-Kirk, “to pull him through.”
The big man’s face wore an anxious look.
“But just where do I come in?” he asked. “While you are deep in the struggle to put this thing right, what am I to do?”