cleanly shaved and attired in a well-fitting black coat and white choker, seemed more real to the detective than the Parson Homo he had met on the previous night.
"You look the part all right," said Beale.
"I suppose I do," said the other shortly; "what am I to do next?"
"You stay here. I have made up a bed for you in my study," said Beale.
"I would like to know a little more of this before I go any further," Homo said, "there are many reasons why I want information."
"I have told you the story," said Beale patiently, "and I am going to say right here that I do not intend telling you any more. You carry this thing through and I'll pay you what I agreed. Nobody will be injured by your deception, that I promise you."
"That doesn't worry me so much," said the other coolly, "as"
There came a knock at the door, an agitated hurried knock, and Beale immediately answered it. It was McNorton, and from force of habit Parson Homo drew back into the shadows.
"All right, Parson," said McNorton, "I knew you were here. What do you make of this?"
He turned to Beale and laid on the table a piece of paper which had been badly crumpled and which he now smoothed out. It was the top half of a telegraph form, the lower half had been torn away.
"'To Belocity, London,'" Beale read aloud.
"That's you," interrupted McNorton, and the other nodded.
"'To Belocity, London,'" he read slowly. "'Am imprisoned at Deans'"
At this point the remainder of the message had been torn off.
