"Where does this come in, this second dagger...?" wondered Winter, a maze of doubt and horror clouding his brain.
Just then Clarke arrived, rather breathless, jubilant, excited, but Winter had already hidden the daggers instinctively—throwing them into a drawer of his writing-desk.
"Well, what news of Miss Marsh?" he asked, with a semblance of official calm he was far from feeling.
"The fact is, sir, I haven't been to Pauline Des——"
"What!"
"I was nearly at her door when I came across Gaston Janoc——"
"Oh, Heavens!" muttered Winter in despair. "You and your eternal Janocs——"
The smiling Clarke looked at his chief in full confidence that he would not be reprimanded for having disobeyed orders. Suddenly making three steps on tiptoe, he said in Winter's ear:
"Don't be too startled—here's an amazing piece of information for you, sir—it was Gaston Janoc who committed the Feldisham Mansions murder!"
Winter stared at him without real comprehension. "Gaston Janoc!" his lips repeated.