"Sorry to interrupt you," he said, "but the turn taken by to-night's crime demands your immediate attention, Mr. Curtis. Do you know you are wearing the dead man's overcoat?"
"Yes. I discovered that fact some time ago."
Curtis's prompt admission was more favorable to his cause than he could possibly realize then, though he had seen that the detective's extraordinarily brilliant eyes were fixed on the garment's blood-stained sleeve.
"And have you learnt the owner's name?" went on Steingall quietly.
"Yes, that is, I believe so, owing to a document I found in one of the pockets."
"Ah, what was that?"
"It concerned another person, but I am prepared to tell you its nature if it is absolutely essential."
"Believe me, there must be no concealment—now."
Something in the detective's tone conveyed a hint of peril, of suspicion, to the ears of one so accustomed to dealing with his fellow-men as was Curtis. But he shook off the premonition of ill, and decided, once and for all, to be candor itself where the authorities were concerned.
"It was a marriage license," he said.