"Perfectly correct, Mr. Blount. Find the papers I am looking for, and you've got the murderer of old Golden!"
"Phew," whistled Blount. "So you don't believe in the suicide theory?"
"Do you?" Martin stopped and faced him.
"Can't say as I do. I did but—you saw my gentleman friend? From what he told me and what you tell me, I don't."
"Well, the same amount stands for the papers as before. But what did you learn from your friend?"
Blount informed him. The name and description fitted Hall so well that both started for Hanley Hall—with what result we know.
On the way Blount showed Martin a small locket which he had found between the dead man's shirt and vest. There was nothing peculiar about it—nothing to distinguish it from hundreds of others of a similar pattern, except that it contained the picture of a pretty young woman.
Martin's connection with Blount being explained, let us return to that gentleman.
His theories, as he put it himself, were "all gone to pot"—no hope now but Jaggers, and he accordingly proceeded to "Blind Jim's."
"Blind Jim's" was a resort of thieves, male and female, of the worst character, and when Blount entered everything came to a standstill. The singing and loud talking ceased almost instantaneously. The whisper went around "Blount is here," and each wondered "does he want me?"