For once he was logical, brief in his explanation, and convincing. Yet
Hamilton was not altogether convinced. He was waiting for the
inevitable "but," and presently it came.
"But of course I'm not going to leave it entirely alone, old Ham," said
Bones, shrugging his shoulders at the absurdity of such a suggestion.
"The business can be doubled if a man with a capable, up-to-date
conception of modern crime----"
Hamilton made a hooting noise, derisive and insulting.
"Meaning you?" he said, at the conclusion of his lamentable exhibition.
"Meaning me, Ham, my fat old sceptic," said Bones gently. "I don't
think, dear old officer, you quite realise just what I know about
criminal investigation."
"You silly ass," said Hamilton, "detective agencies don't criminally
investigate. That's done by the real police. Detective agencies are
merely employed by suspicious wives to follow their husbands."
"Exactly," said Bones, nodding. "And that is just where I come in.
You see, I did a little bit of work last night--rather a pretty little
bit of work." He took a slip of paper from his pocket. "You dined at
the Criterion at half-past eight with a tall, fair lady--a jolly old
dear she was too, old boy, and I congratulate you most heartily--named
Vera."
Hamilton's face went red.
"You left the restaurant at ten past nine, and entered cab No. 667432.
Am I right, sir?"
"Do you mean to tell me," exploded Hamilton, "that you were watching
me?"
Bones nodded.
"I picked you up, old thing, outside the Piccadilly Tube. I shadowed
you to the theatre. I followed you home. You got a taxi--No.
297431--and you were an awful long time before you got out when you
reached the lady's destination--an awful long time," said Bones
emphatically. "What you could find to talk about after the cab had
drawn up at the dear old ancestral home of Vera----"
"Bones," said Hamilton awfully. "I think you've gone far enough."
"I thought you'd gone a bit too far, dear old thing, I did really,"
said Bones, shaking his head reprovingly. "I watched you very
carefully."
He danced, with a little squeak of joy, into the office of his
beautiful secretary, leaving a very red and a pardonably annoyed
Hamilton breathing heavily.
Bones went to the office of Siker's Detective Agency early the next
morning. He went, it may be remarked in passing, though these details
can only be interesting to the psychologist, wearing the darkest of his
dark suits and a large black wideawake hat. There was a certain
furtiveness in his movements between the taxicab and the entrance of
the office, which might suggest to anybody who had taken the trouble to
observe him that he was an escaping bank-robber.
Siker's had spacious offices and a small staff. Only Hilton, the
manager, and a clerk were in when Bones presented his card. He was
immediately conducted by Mr. Hilton to a very plain inner office,
surrounded with narrow shelves, which in turn were occupied by
innumerable little deed boxes.