I declined the invitation, pleading some excuse, and leaving Davis to accept it, walked on to the billiard-room, in the hope of escaping the subject in a game, but it was of no avail, for there, too, it held the floor.
As I entered the room I observed collected at one end a group, the personnel of which I at once recognized. It was made up of a class of men such as are to be found in every club, men to whose words attaches no responsibility and who are accustomed to express themselves on all subjects, particularly sensational ones, in exaggerated language. They are of the sort that become especially enthusiastic over a jockey, a prize-fighter, or a detective, and on any provocation will indulge in flights of hero-worship. In such a clique are always to be found certain leaders who assert themselves and their opinions in aggressive tones and to whom the others render admiring homage. It was so now; one of the Solons was on his feet engaged in an argumentative review of the evidence in the case to an admiring audience. The tables were deserted, except for an old gentleman, who always played his "evening game for a little exercise before bed," but who now stood disconsolately leaning on his cue while his partner hung absorbed over the group of listeners.
"Now see here, Dallas," said the speaker on observing me, "wasn't that about the finest worked-up case you ever saw? Here was an instance where the police had absolutely nothing to go on but some missing money and a glimpse at a man peering in at a window on a dark night, and yet within forty-eight hours they run down their man and have him safe in jail. There is no doubt of it, we have the finest police force in the world, and I always have said so. That man Dalton is a wonder."
"Yes," chimed in another before I had time to assent or dissent, "and what an eye he has; it pierces you like an eagle's when he looks at you. He understands his business."
"Indeed he does," the first speaker continued, "and he leaves nothing undone. Did you read the testimony in the 'Extra' this evening? He has seized and exhausted each clue systematically. He hasn't left a loophole of escape for Winters." To which ultimatum, all assented heartily.
"So you think there is no doubt of his guilt?" a mild little man, anxious for a word, next ventured to ask in a deferential tone.
"Doubt of his guilt!" repeated the first speaker, in a tone of pitying indulgence; "why, man, the case is all over."
"Of course, the evidence proves that," the little man hastened to explain apologetically, "I only asked to get your opinion."
"That's all right," continued the speaker, mollified; "I am glad you asked. There can be but one opinion. Winters was a bad lot anyhow and bound to come to a bad ending."
"How soon do you suppose he will be tried?" he added, turning to me again.