Then, again, he was worried by the reflection that, no matter how discriminating the police might prove with regard to his sketch of Sylvia Manning, he would undoubtedly be called as a witness, both at the inquest and at the trial of any person arrested for the crime. It was asking too much of editorial human nature to expect that the magazine which had commissioned the illustrated article on Roxton would not make capital of the fact that its special artist was actually sketching the house while Mr. Fenley's murderer was skulking among the trees surrounding it. Thus there was no escape for John Trenholme. He was doomed to become notorious. At any hour the evening newspapers might be publishing his portrait and biography!
On going downstairs he was cheered a little by meeting an apologetic Eliza.
"I hope I didn't do any reel 'arm, sir," she said, dropping an aspirate in sheer emphasis.
"Any harm to whom, or what?" he asked.
"By talkin' as I did afore that 'tec, sir."
"All depends on what you said to him. If you told him, for instance, that I carry Browning pistols in each pocket, and that my easel is a portable Maxim gun, of course——"
"Oh, sir, I never try to be funny. I mean about the picter."
"Good Heavens! You, too!"
Eliza failed to understand this, but she was too subdued to inquire his meaning.
"You see, sir, he must ha' heerd what I said about it, an' him skulkin' there in the passage. Do you reelly think a hop-o'-me-thumb like that can be a Scotland Yard man? It's my belief he's a himpostor."