“Really, Miller,” said Thorndyke, with a smile, “you flatter me; but I am not like the wise woman of Bagdad who could tell you how many stairs the patient had tumbled down by merely looking at his tongue. I must examine this very thoroughly. When do you want to know?”
“I should like to know to-night,” replied the detective.
“Can I cut a piece out to put under the microscope?”
“I would rather you did not,” was the reply.
“Very well; you shall have the information in about an hour.”
“It’s very good of you, doctor,” said the detective; and he was taking up his hat preparatory to departing, when Thorndyke said suddenly——
“By the way, there is a little matter that I was going to speak to you about. It refers to this Camberwell murder case. I understand you have a clue to the identity of the murderer?”
“Clue!” exclaimed the superintendent contemptuously. “We have spotted our man all right, if we could only lay hands on him; but he has given us the slip for the moment.”
“Who is the man?” asked Thorndyke.
The detective looked doubtfully at Thorndyke for some seconds and then said, with evident reluctance: “I suppose there is no harm in telling you—especially as you probably know already”—this with a sly grin; “it’s an old crook named Belfield.”