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"Come," he continued. "Well, here then" as the detective did not move "here's my card. That ought to do you." He took a card from his pocket-case and offered it to the detective, who, after scrutinizing it for a moment, let it fall to the floor. "Oh, it's all right, I guess," he said. "But what shall I say to the chief?" "Simply say that I didn't need you any longer."
Next minute, they were all cantering in the one direction; the detective very much in the advance. "Let me go with you to the station," entreated Reuther, as Mr. Black held up his arms to lift her from her horse at the door of the hotel. But his refusal was peremptory. "You need Miss Weeks, and Miss Weeks needs you," said he. "I'll be back in just five minutes."
M. Lecoq advanced and spoke. "I believe I know the cause of the doctor's emotion. He has just discovered that Madame de Tremorel was killed by a single blow, and that the assassins afterward set themselves to disfiguring the body, when it was nearly cold." The doctor's eyes fastened on the detective, with a stupefied expression. "How could you divine that?" he asked.
Then Grady crossed the floor and opened the door. He stepped inside nimbly, there was a sudden cry, and then the voice of the detective broke out harshly. "Now drop it," he said. "Keep your hands out of your pocket there are three of us here altogether, and the more fuss you make the worse it will be for both of you. You know perfectly well who I am, Blossett; and we are old friends, too, Mr.
The word "detective" might have been heard to gurgle in the sergeant's throat; and vigorously applying the whip, he fled up the river-side road to Great Haverham, at the gallop of the carrier's horse.
George Bingham, or as he was familiarly called, "Chip" Bingham, was the youngest operative in Mr. Pinkerton's service. His talents, in the detective line, ranged considerably higher than did the general run of his associates.
But that he should be playing his game among those mysterious black crags seemed to make him bigger and more desperate, altogether a different kind of proposition. I didn't exactly dislike the idea, for my objection to my past weeks had been that I was out of my proper job, and this was more my line of country. I always felt that I was a better bandit than a detective.
I've left my work for weeks, and spent a sight of money to see that my sister got her rights, and, by thunder! she's going to have 'em. We've agreed to give you a chance to brace up and be a man. If we find out there isn't any man in you, then you go to prison and hard labor to the full extent of the law. We've fixed things so you can't play any more tricks. This man is a private detective.
"The whole case lies there," said he. "Whether these proofs have or have not been destroyed." M. Plantat did not choose to answer directly. "Do you know," asked he, "to whom Sauvresy confided them for keeping?" "Ah," cried the detective, as if a sudden idea had enlightened him, "it was you." He added to himself, "Now, my good man, I begin to see where all your information comes from."
Neither the magistrate nor the young detective relished this unseasonable jest. "You forget yourself, sir," said M. Segmuller severely. "You forget that the sneers you address to your comrade also apply to me!" The General saw that he had gone too far; and while glancing hatefully at Lecoq, he mumbled an apology to the magistrate.
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