Barney shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I dunno.”
Babbing studied him in silence a moment: then he rose. “I ’m disappointed in you, Barney,” he said, beginning to walk up and down the room. “You ’ve got the makings of a good detective in you, but you don’t seem to be developing. You ’ve no ‘nose,’ boy. And I don’t see you getting any. . . . When that man came in here, I had a distinct impression. Of something strongly sinister. That ’s why I called you in. I wanted to see whether you got it.”
“I thought you were tryin’ to—to tell me somethin’;” Barney stammered.
Babbing turned to him. “Oh? I see. I threw you off. Well, if I call you like that again, don’t watch me. Watch the person that ’s with me. I noticed that you saw his hand shake when he lit his cigar.”
Barney grinned. “I did n’t think you saw it.”
