"How does he do it?"
The clerk shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know all the stories, but they say there was something queer about the things he did when he was a boy. Anyhow, he got the town down on him, and that's the way it has been ever since."
"The latest about Dr. Underwood," a boy called at the door. He tossed a crumpled sheet of paper to the clerk, who read it and then smilingly laid it before Burton. The sheet was typewritten, not printed, and it bore the following legend:
"Search Dr. Underwood's house. You will find evidence of his guilt."
Burton frowned. "It strikes me that there is either too much or too little said about all this business. If there is any substantial evidence against the man, he ought to be arrested. If there isn't, his accusers ought to be. Why don't the parties who send out a bill like this sign it?"
The clerk smiled his disinterested smile. "They're afraid to. I told you it wasn't considered healthy to oppose Dr. Underwood. Something is bound to happen to them."
"Nonsense," said Burton impatiently.
"Of course," agreed the smiling clerk, and sauntered away.
Burton sat still and considered. His personal irritation was swallowed up in this more serious complication. How did this curious and unexpected situation affect the commission with which he was charged? He thought of Rachel Overman, fastidious, critical, ultra refined, and in spite of his preoccupation he smiled to himself. The idea of an alliance between her house and that of a man who was popularly supposed to indulge on occasion in highway robbery struck him as incongruous enough to be called humorous. At any rate, he now had a reasonable excuse for going no further with his "fool errand." The role of Lancelot, wooing as a proxy for the absent prince, had by no means pleased him, and it was with a guilty sense of relief at the idea of dropping it right here that he called for a time-table.