Runnels elbowed his way forward with a question.
"Oh, I've got a warrant for him," Williams declared. "What for? Well, for one thing he embezzled eighty thousand dollars, and I'm going to take him back."
"Eh? W'at is this?" Alfarez bustled into the conversation. "Embezzle?
He is then a t'ief?"
"Exactly. If you're the inspector I'll ask you to make this arrest for me. I believe we're on foreign ground."
"That's right, Alfarez," came the voice of John Weeks, anxious to have a word in the affair. "I'll vouch for Mr. Williams. This chap is a smooth one, but his name isn't Anthony at all, nor Locke, either; it's Wellar; and he's wanted for other things besides embezzlement." Turning his triumphant little red eyes upon the prisoner, he puffed, "Got you, didn't we?"
"I regret you 'ave arrive' so late," smirked Alfarez. "The gentleman is already arrest' for the murder of Senor Cortlan'. He will first answer to that, I assure you."
Kirk nodded. "Too bad, Williams! I'm sorry you didn't come last night."
They went on down the street, leaving the detective staring and Weeks open-mouthed.
"Cortlandt murdered!" the consul gasped. "Lord! And to think I nourished that viper at my breast."
Williams wheeled and cursed the fat man furiously. It was during the lunch-hour that Ramon Alfarez called at the Garavel home, finding the banker and his daughter still loitering over their midday meal and discussing the topic that had electrified the whole city.