It was overlooked
from too many quarters.
"Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart," said Winter.
"Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?"
Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
"Since when?" he cried.
"He crossed from Lisbon last week."
Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently
making sure that it was properly loaded.
"What's the law in England?" he inquired. "Can I shoot first, or must I
wait till the other fellow has had a pop?"
Winter laughed.
"It's all right," he said. "Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting extradition.
But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me to-day."
A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
"Where's Furneaux?" he demanded.
"Gone to London. Why this keen interest?" said Winter.
"There's something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was
simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he
chose me."
"He would," was the dry comment.
"Fact, 'pon me honor. I didn't lead him on an inch. It seems that
Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin's house, and
Tomlin says that that hexplains hit.
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