Part 10 (2/2)
”Whom do you think Stratton suspects of the crime? He told the sheriff,”
said Brenton, ”that he had the name in his pocket-book.”
”I don't know,” said Speed, ”but I have my suspicions. You see, he has the names of all the guests at your banquet in that pocket-book of his; but the name of Stephen Roland he has marked with two crosses. The name of the servant he has marked with one cross. Now, I suspect that he believes Stephen Roland committed the crime. You know Roland; what do you think of him?”
”I think he is quite capable of it,” answered Brenton, with a frown.
”Still, you are prejudiced against the man,” put in Speed, ”so your evidence is hardly impartial.”
”I am not prejudiced against any one,” answered Brenton; ”I merely know that man. He is a thoroughly despicable, cowardly character. The only thing that makes me think he would not commit a murder, is that he is too craven to stand the consequences if he were caught. He is a cool villain, but he is a coward. I do not believe he has the courage to commit a crime, even if he thought he would benefit by it.”
”Well, there is one thing, Brenton, you can't be accused of flattering a man, and if it is any consolation for you to know, you may be pretty certain that George Stratton is on his track.”
”I am sure I wish him success,” answered Brenton, gloomily; ”if he brings Roland to the gallows I shall not mourn over it.”
”That's all right,” said Speed; ”but now we must be up and doing ourselves. Have you anything to propose?”
”No, I have not, except that we might play the detective on Roland.”
”Well, the trouble with that is we would merely be duplicating what Stratton is doing himself. Now, I'll tell you my proposal. Supposing that we consult with Lecocq.”
”Who is that? The novelist?”
”Novelist? I don't think he has ever written any novels--not that I remember of.”
”Ah, I didn't know. It seemed to me that I remembered his name in connection with some novel.”
”Oh, very likely you did. He is the hero of more detective stories than any other man I know of. He was the great French detective.”
”What, is he dead, then?”
”Dead? Not a bit of it; he's here with us. Oh, I understand what you mean. Yes, from your point of view, he is dead.”
”Where can we find him?”
”Well, I presume, in Paris. He's a first-rate fellow to know, anyhow, and he spends most of his time around his old haunts. In fact, if you want to be certain to find Lecocq, you will generally get him during office hours in the room he used to frequent while in Paris.”
”Let us go and see him, then.”
”Monsieur Lecocq,” said Speed, a moment afterwards, ”I wish to introduce to you a new-comer, Mr. Brenton, recently of Cincinnati.”
”Ah, my dear Speed,” said the Frenchman, ”I am very pleased indeed to meet any friend of yours. How is the great Chicago, the second Paris, and how is your circulation?--the greatest in the world, I suppose.”
”Well, it is in pretty good order,” said Speed; ”we circulated from Chicago to Paris here in a very much shorter time than the journey usually occupies down below. Now, can you give us a little of your time?
Are you busy just now?”
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