"There's one person I don't want," I said, "and that's Dr. Manning." I stopped, and then, feeling that I must at least make some appearance of taking him into my confidence, I added: "You were perfectly right about him, Bascomb. He's a rascal, only he's a damned clever one. I couldn't get anything out of him last night, try as I would. All the same, I'm more certain than ever that he's up to some dirty business."
A gleam of approval flickered across my companion's face.
"You can trust me safe enough, guv'nor," he returned. "'E won't set foot again in this 'ouse while I'm 'ere—not 'im nor that broken-nosed blighter Craill neither."
He brought out the epithet so unexpectedly that it was all I could do to keep back a sudden exclamation.
"Craill!" I repeated. "Isn't that the fellow who looks after his barge?"
Once again Bascomb nodded sourly. "That's 'im—an' you can take it from me that 'e's the right bloke for the job."
A vision of that furtive, sinister figure hanging about outside Mr. Drayton's office rose vividly in my mind.
"Yes," I said, with intentional carelessness, "I should think they were a very nicely matched pair. How did Craill manage to break his nose?"
"Someone done it for 'im, I reckon. Pity they didn't break his neck too while they was about it."
Lifting the tray, Bascomb marched off through the side door, and after a moment's hesitation Satan got up and followed him.