Again Merrivale assented, his usually impassible face now stirred with the deepest, most anxious interest.
"Is 'Sullivan' De Vos's right name?" he asked.
"I believe it is, sir. He's thoroughly Irish; but O'Brian isn't, though he's taken an Irish name. Sullivan's been known to the police also in his time, and I fancy there's a little matter in the wind which might introduce him again to us. They've both had their warning, though, from some quarter, and are in safe hiding somewhere or other as yet."
"Have you more to tell us about O'Brian?"
"Nothing more, sir, at present. There's some dark secret and mystery hanging over him--a terrible story, I am afraid; but I can't speak for certain just now.--Mr. Kavanagh," suddenly glancing up at me, "did you never see a likeness to any one in Mr. Wilmot?"
"No, not that I know of. We have often said he was like none of his relatives living, that was his uncle and cousin. Have you?"
"It's fancy, sir, no doubt. His mother died when he was very young, didn't she? and his father?"
"Mrs. Wilmot died soon after his birth. His father I never heard of. He was a mauvais sujet, I believe."
"Ah! The inspector drew a long breath and relapsed into one of his silent moods, during which the process of scraping and gnawing was resumed with avidity.