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But here again Saney must be quoted. Mallard's, he said, was a life study, and, even so, three score and ten years was no more than sufficient for a very elementary apprenticeship. Further, he considered that Mallard's was the cemetery of all reputations in criminal investigation. Outwardly Mallard's was no different from the other houses which surrounded it.
I've seen him to-day at Mallard's. He didn't see me. Only my back. But I saw him. He came with Saney. And there's only one thing I guess to bring Steve to Mallard's. Saney's never given me a moment's nightmare. But Steve Steve back from Unaga, Steve in plain clothes in Quebec with Saney, and me sheltering at Mallard's, tells its own story to anyone with savee.
Six months, an' you've learned to guess hard when you see Saney bumming around, or a uniform in the crowd. You've learned to wish you 'hadn't, so you dream things all night. You're yearning to get back to things as they were before you guessed you'd fancy them diff'rent, and you find that way the door's shut tight, and a feller with a darn sharp sword is sitting around waiting on you.
"You'll search the place?" the other suggested. Saney shrugged. "If you feel that way. But it's useless," he said. "I said that to you before. You've tracked this feller to this city. You've tracked him to Mallard's. It's taken you nearly two years. We've all been out after him, and failed. You've succeeded in hunting him down to Mallard's. Well, I'd say your work's only just started.
I'd swear to that." Saney nodded. "So would I. A feller did go in. Maybe it was some guy that didn't fancy seeing me. Maybe it was your man. It wouldn't help us tearing out those boxes. We know them. 'No. 1' is a clear way out of that room. Guess the whole back of it opens into some darn passage, which you could easily reach from anywhere outside that room. That's the trick of the place.
He was the shorter of the two, and his clean shaven face and his undistinctive tweed clothing would have left him quite unremarkable but for his air of definite decision and purpose. The first man the Englishman recognized as Saney, head of the Criminal Investigation Department of the province. The other was a stranger.
He told them how finally he had discovered the trail he, sought in a remote haunt in the poorer quarters of Winnipeg. This, after many tortuous wanderings and blind alley searchings, had finally led him to the waterside of Quebec, and the purlieus of Mallard's, where, under the guidance of the celebrated Maurice Saney, he ran up against the blank wall of that redoubtable harbour of crime.
I had a notion I might have to hang for the job, but, anyway, I'd have saved her from a life well, I'd have saved them both, and been able to fix them so they didn't need a thing in life. What happened to me didn't seem to worry any. But when I hit up against Mallard's, and I'd listened some to Saney I started in to figure. To get that far had taken me over two years, and big money.
After the examination the two men passed out of the room and the Englishman watched the smiling contempt that promptly lit the eyes of the clerk as he looked after them. Outside on the landing Saney led the way. Nor did the two men speak until they had passed down the stairs and out into the street. "Well?" Saney spoke with an ironical smile lighting his genial eyes.
He rose swiftly from his chair and joined the group. The man with the beard had made no movement. He, too, had heard Saney's name, and a keen, alert, sidelong glance followed his neighbour's movements. The other was away some seconds. When he returned his breathing seemed to have quickened, and a light of uncertainty shone in his eyes. "It's Saney," he said, without waiting for any question.
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