"Well, Ise heahed a heap o' gossip, an' all de talk is des one way. De killer had dat hoodoo bill."
"Is any one suspected?"
"Yes, sah—dat man Craven is speculated."
"Craven? Who is he?"
There was apparent unconcern in the way the question was asked. And there was something more. Nick Carter, shrewd student of human nature as he was, knew that he was now treading on dangerous ground. But he cared not. He had made his point, and in a few minutes he would prepare to close in.
"Don' yo' know, sah?" looking at Mannion in a surprised way.
"No, I don't. Never heard of the man before."
"Den it was yo' double, sah, dat was talkin' to him de day ob de killin'."
Arthur Mannion, with a glint in his blue eyes, which spoke of a sudden resolution, arose to his feet and went to the wash-basin. Taking a towel from the rack, he advanced toward the detective, who, divining what was coming, remained seated. One hand was in his coat pocket, the other rested on his knee. The hand had gone into the pocket while Mannion's back was turned.