Yet they were both masters in the art of detecting crime—the barrister subtle, analytic, introspective; the policeman direct, pertinacious, self-confident. Bruce lost all interest in a case when the hidden trail was laid bare. Mr. White regarded investigation as so many hours on duty until his man was transported or hanged.
The detective was well acquainted with his unprofessional colleague, and had already met Sir Charles in the early stages of his present quest.
“I have an important clue,” he said, smiling with assurance.
“What is it?” The baronet was for the moment aroused from his despondent lethargy.
“Her ladyship did not go to Richmond on Tuesday night.”
Inspector White did not wait for Bruce to speak, but the barrister nodded with the air of one who knew already that Lady Dyke had not gone to Richmond.
Mr. White continued. “Thanks to Mr. Bruce’s remembrance of the number of the ticket, we traced it at once in the clearing office. It was given up at Sloan Square immediately after the Richmond train passed through.”
Bruce nodded again. He was obstinately silent, so the detective questioned him directly.
“By this means the inquiry is narrowed to a locality. Eh, Mr. Bruce?”
“Yes,” said the barrister, turning to poke the fire.