Garth threw up his hands.
"How could I tell? I only brought him in on a chance. I knew you were after the funny medicine crowd. He was up to some queer business last night, and I thought he looked the type."
"Yes," the inspector agreed drily, "he certainly looked the type, so much so that I'd gamble that wizzened brain of his held all I want to know."
He seized a paper weight and commenced to toss it ponderously from fist to fist.
"That's what you've let get away from you. Maybe you'll be accommodating enough to tell me how you happened to pick him up."
Garth glanced questioningly at the woman.
"Don't fret," the inspector said scornfully. "She won't give you away even if you have made an ass of yourself."
Garth reddened. Impulsively he turned on his heel. Later he would be ashamed, since he understood the inspector thoroughly. But for the moment he surrendered himself to pride. The sound of the chair shoved back by the inspector was not unexpected, nor did he fail to catch the note of apology, the appeal for terms in the gruff voice.
"Come back here. Where are you going?"
But it was another voice that swung him sharply.