"—unless I break my promise, and hand this piece of evidence over to Norwood. I guess he's arch-high-policeman here."
As if the guardian angel of Dick's conscience was at work that very minute to torment him, there came the sound of an approaching horse, and Samson turned the corner into view.
"Oh, hullo, Blaine! How's the gold developing?"
"So-so. Have they found the murderer of Mukhum Dass yet?"
Samson dropped his reins to light a cigar, and took his time about it.
"Not exactly."
"Hum! You either exactly find the murderer, or you don't!"
"We've our suspicions."
"Leading anywhere?"
"Too soon to say."