“A very happy invention of an ingenious mind, my dear fellow,” exclaimed the Mystery-monger. “Depend upon it, Patterson, being already aware that there were snakes in that house, invented the story, knowing that when the place was searched it would appear quite circumstantial.”
“Then you think that he’s not in absolute ignorance of who lived there?” I exclaimed, surprised at my friend’s startling theory.
Dick nodded.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if it be proved that he knew all along who the dead man is.”
“Why?”
“Well, I noticed that he never once looked at that man’s face. It was he who covered it with a handkerchief, as though the sight of the white countenance appalled him.”
“Come come,” I said, “proceed. You’ll say that he’s the guilty one next.”
“Ah! no, my dear fellow,” he hastened to reassure me. “You quite misunderstand my meaning. I hold the theory that in life these people were friends of Patterson’s, that’s all.”
“What makes you suspect such a thing?”
“Well, I watched our friend very closely this evening, and that’s the conclusion I’ve arrived at.”