And Winter, glancing round, saw Clarke's face merry, like carved ivory in a state of gayety, showing a tooth or two lacking, and browned fangs. For a moment he stared at Clarke, without comprehension, till the absurd truth rushed in upon him that Clarke was really taking it in jest. Then he, too, laughed even more loudly.
"Ha! ha!--yes, Furneaux! 'Pon my honor, the funniest thing! Furneaux it is for sure!"
"Ripping! By gad, I shall have to apply for a warrant!"
Finding his chief in this rare good humor, Clarke thought to obtain a little useful information.
"Do you know any of the Anarchist crowd with those initials, sir?" he asked.
"I think I do; yes, a Frenchman. Or it may be a German. There is no telling whom she means--no telling. But where on earth did you come across this diary?"
"You remember the lady's-maid, Pauline, the girl who couldn't be found to give evidence at the inquest? I was following the Anarchist Antonio, who seemed to be prowling after some ladies in a cab a day or two ago, and the door that was opened to the ladies when their cab stopped was opened by--Pauline."
Then he told how he had obtained the diary, and volunteered a theory as to the girl's possession of it.
"She must have picked it up in the flat on coming home from the Exhibition on the night of the murder, and kept it."
They discussed the circumstances fully, and Clarke went away, his conscience clear of having kept the matter dark from headquarters, yet confident that he had not put Winter on the track of his own special prey, Janoc. And as his footsteps became faint and fainter behind the closed door, Winter let his head fall low, almost upon the desk, and so he remained, hidden, as it were, from himself, a long while, until suddenly springing up with a face all fiery, he cried aloud in a rage:
"Oh, no more sentiment! By the Lord, I'm done with it. From this hour Inspector Furneaux is under the eye of the police."
Furneaux himself was then, for the second time that week, at Mrs. Marsh's lodgings in Porchester Gardens in secret and urgent talk with Rosalind.
"You will think that I am always hunting you down, Miss Marsh," he said genially on entering the room.
"You know best how to describe your profession," she murmured a little bitterly, for his parting shot at their last meeting had struck deep.