The very fact of having nothing definite upon which to work was getting on Carroll's usually equable nerves. He had little to say to Leverage regarding the case, for the simple reason that there was very little which could be said. Leverage, on his part, watched the detective with keen interest, sympathizing with him, and exhibiting implicit confidence, but the men didn't agree upon the correct procedure. Leverage was all for arresting Barker and charging him with the murder.
"You'll learn some facts then, Carroll," he insisted.
But Carroll shook his head.
"It wouldn't get us anywhere, Eric. We couldn't prove him guilty."
"No-o, but that don't make no difference. Of course the law says a man is innocent until you prove he ain't, but that ain't what the law does. If we arrest this here Mr. William Barker, everybody's going to believe he's guilty until he proves himself innocent."
"And you think he can't do that?"
"No! At least I'm gambling on this—Barker can't prove himself innocent without telling who is guilty!"
But Carroll refused to arrest the man. He knew that Leverage disapproved, but he also knew that Leverage was sportsman enough to let him handle the case in his own way.
On one of his long strolls through the downtown section of the city—daily walks which helped him to think connectedly—David Carroll felt a hand on his arm and heard an eager feminine voice in his ear:
"Gracious goodness! If it isn't the perfectly marvelous Mr. David
Carroll!"