“Come now, Fuller,” chaffed Hilderman. “You must give him a run for his money, you know. He is risking his reputation at a moment’s notice. I think you ought to let him ask you three questions, at any rate.”
“Fire away, Mr. Burnham,” said our host. “I’ll give you a start of three questions, and then you must be prepared to answer every reasonable question I put to you, or be branded publicly as an unreliable witness and an incompetent detective.”
Dennis puffed at his pipe and smiled, and I was surprised to see that he really was bringing his mind to bear on the trivial problem with all the acuteness he had in him.
“Well, in the first place,” he asked, “do you stop in port very often overnight, or for any length of time during the day?”
“I never stop in port longer than I can help,” laughed Fuller, “or the owner of that knife would probably take the opportunity of buying a new one, and throwing this old thing away. All the same, I don’t see how that is going to help you.”
“Ah,” said Dennis, in bantering vein, “you mustn’t expect me to give away my process, you know. The secret’s been in the family for years.”
“What’s your second question, Den?” I asked.
“Is there a hotel within reasonable distance of your house on Loch Whatever-it-is, Mr. Fuller?”
“Loch Duich?” our host replied. “There’s one about six miles by road and eleven or twelve by the sea.”