"Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?"
"It was perched on top of a wig," drawled Hart.
Furneaux was slightly disappointed--there was no denying it. Being a vain
little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as this.
"Yes," he admitted, "and what's the corollary?"
"That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics
of Owd Ben. Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that
hairy goblin."
"Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?" said the detective testily.
"Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description."
"Her husband can tell us the story," put in Grant. "I'll fetch him."
He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
"Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect," said Hart.
"If it's that Robinson--" growled Furneaux vexedly, hastening to
forestall Minnie.
But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the
room, her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very
natural embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a stranger
fixed on her.
"I don't quite know why I'm here," she said, with a nervous laugh,
addressing Grant directly.
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