your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense, ask
a question?"

"Yes."

"Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave Steynholme?"

"But didn't I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood of
Cornhill?"

"True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme."

"I'm a greater believer in what the theater people call 'atmosphere.'
Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert's report in a
mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in the
ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don't hug the delusion that I
shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,
unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the next
Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?"

"By all means."

"Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night's post if practicable."

"It shall be done."

When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.

"I've given that little Frenchman furiously to think," he murmured.