“Was it not a strange freak for this gentleman, disguised just as he afterward came to you, to enter my study window, and conceal himself in my cabinet?”
Mr. Follingsbee looked up with lively interest. “Did he do that?” he asked quickly.
“He did that.”
“Well,” said Mr. Follingsbee slowly, “I should say that it was quite like him. He did not talk of his own exploits when he came to me; I fancy his time was limited.”
“Probably; now, Mr. Follingsbee, I think I see things, some things, in a clearer light. This organ-grinder of mine, this gentleman of yours, this anonymous friend, is a detective!”
“Umph!” mutters the lawyer, half to himself, “we are beginning to use our wits.” Then in a louder tone: “Ah, so we are no longer lawyer and witness?”
“No,” with a quiet smile; “we are two lawyers. Let us remain such.”
“With all my heart,” cries Mr. Follingsbee, extending his hand; “let us remain such.”
Alan takes the proffered hand, and begins again.
“This champion of mine, then, is a detective; you admit that?”