"
Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
"Detective work is nearly all guessing," he said sententiously, "yet one
must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and effect were
so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department would cease
to exist, and the protection of life and property might be left safely to
the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been rather inactive
during two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What's he up to? Can you
throw a light on him, Peters?"
The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease prying.
He kicked Hart under the table.
"Hi!" yelled Wally. "What's the matter? Strike your matches on your own
shin, not mine."
"Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed," said
Winter firmly.
"Very well. He needn't emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot. When
my injured feelings have recovered I'll discourse to you of strange folk
and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your stock
as an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next time
you're badgered by a man who knows the country."
"Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail," laughed Peters.
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