The elder of the two, now Badger’s wife, had sung on the stage, done turns in the concert-halls, and in earlier years had been an accomplished equestrienne in the circus-ring, from the first of which Badger had married her in Manchester, about five years before.
That both women were little more than adventuresses of a rather disreputable type, Nick’s informant positively assured him, and this further confirmed his theory and convinced him that he was on the right track.
It was early afternoon when he arrived at police headquarters, in Pemberton Square, and entered the general office previously described.
It so happened that Chief Weston was in this office at the time, though all of the detectives not then assigned to outside work were either out at lunch or in the officers’ lounging-room.
It so happened, also, since Satan sometimes serves his own, that the only other occupant of the general office was the clerk whom Nick had encountered there several days before—Mr. Sandy Hyde.
The brick-hued head of the latter was raised from over his books upon hearing the detective’s name mentioned in greeting, and his catlike eyes lighted with quickened interest.
“Ah, good morning, Nick!” was Chief Weston’s greeting. “Anything doing?”
“I wish to return these reports, chief, which I took from you a few days ago,” replied Nick, producing them from his pocket.
“No further use for them?”
“Not at present.”