“Friend! By—, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve said. There’s a law to stop that sort of thing.”
“But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn’t a slander unless it’s uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would be Mr. Grant’s action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn’t muzzle you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers, you charged him openly with being a murderer. I’m sorry for you, Elkin, if ever you come before a judge. He’ll rattle more than my three guineas out of you. Even now, you don’t grasp the extent of your folly. Instead of telling me how you spent that hour and a half on the night of the crime you have the incredible audacity to threaten me, me, the man who has saved you from jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I’ll let Robinson arrest you. You’ll be set free, of course, when I stage the actual villain, but a few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot blood. You were with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a fool of an honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather about being ‘practically engaged’ to Doris Martin, a girl who wouldn’t let you tie her shoe-lace. You’re an impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But you stock decent tea, so I’ll take another cup. If you’re wise, you’ll take a second one yourself. It’s better for you than whiskey.”
Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness inseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet throve as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learn more from this strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
“You’re a bit rough on a fellow,” he growled sulkily, pouring out the tea.
“For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy.”
“Yes. That’s right. She’d prove an alibi, so your tom-fool case breaks down when the flag falls.”
“Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin’s evidence on Wednesday? What did you mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at the first hearing?”
“I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still,” came the savage retort.
“A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the sugar?”
“Look here! What are you gettin’ at? Damme if I can see through your game. What is it?”