"Direct evidence it would be, at present, out of my power to supply," I said; I was on my mettle; my mental forces were never clearer, were never more resolutely set upon one object; "but there is such a thing as circumstantial evidence. Mr. Lemon and his wife should come forward, and relate all that they know concerning you. You and Mr. Lemon are carrying on a business somewhere; the place should be searched; it should be made food for the multitude who are ever on the hunt for the sensational. Your desk on the table here contains writings of yours; they may throw light upon the investigation. So we should go on, step by step, independent of your assistance, until we get the murderer--who may or may not be an accomplice of yours--into the clutches of the law." Towards the end of this speech I had risen and approached the window, which faced the square. Mechanically lifting the blind, I looked out, and saw what arrested my attention. By the railings on the opposite side, with his eyes raised to the window, was the figure of a man. He was standing quite motionless, and, the night being fine, with a panoply of stars in the sky, I presently recognised the figure to be that of George Carton, poor Lizzie Melladew's distracted lover. At some little distance from him was the figure of another man, whose movements were distinguished by restlessness, and in him I recognised Carton's guardian, Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. "Looking for a policeman?" inquired Devlin, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "No," I replied, "but I am pleased to discover that I am not alone, that I have friends outside ready to assist me the moment I call upon them." Devlin rose, and joined me at the window. "Is your sight very keen?" he asked. "Keen enough to recognise friends," I said. "Mine is wonderful," said Devlin, "quite catlike; another of my abnormal qualities. I can plainly distinguish the features of the two men upon whom we are gazing. One is young. Who is he?" "His name," I replied, believing that entire frankness would be more likely to win Devlin to my side, "is George Carton." "I recognise him; he was in your house yesterday morning. He seems distressed. There is a troubled look in his face." "He was the murdered girl's lover." "Ah! And the other, the elder man, casting anxious glances upon the younger--who may he be?" "His name is Mr. Kenneth Dowsett. He is young Carton's guardian." "Thank you," said Devlin, returning to his seat at the table. I dropped the blind, and resumed my seat opposite to him, and then I observed a singular smile upon his face, to which I could attach no meaning.