“More’n that, sir, he is!” declared the garrulous constable, with emphasis. “A cleaner, nicer man than Dick Thorpe never stood in leather. He hasn’t a foe in these ’ere parts. Even that old man, stiff and stark there, was his friend--and whoever could win old Jacob Moore’s favor, sir, could win any man’s! I know, ’cause I know ’em all, root and branch. You’re a lawyer, ain’t you?” “Yes, Constable Bragg,” affably nodded Keene, careful to give this pretentious officer all the distinction possible. “Our Mr. French has always been Moore’s legal adviser, and we shall now execute his estate--and possibly his assassins.” “Cleverly put--very!” chuckled Mr. Bragg, clapping the detective on the shoulder. “And, seeing’s your interest runs with mine, I’ll not mind helping you, when I can.” “Then you’ll not object to my looking over the evidence with you, merely as an assistant?” “Sure not!” “I’ll keep mum, understand! Of course, I don’t expect to see all you’ll see, for detective work is not in my line; but what little I get may help Mr. French in conducting the case. And, say!” “Well, sir?” Keene slipped his hand through the constable’s brawny arm and drew him closer, to add confidentially: “If you can make a hit in ferreting out the truth here, there’d be a big opening elsewhere for a man of your measure.” “D’ye think so?” was the eager inquiry. “I know so! Furthermore, since you’re inclined to do me a turn, I’d like to reciprocate some day. Our law firm, you know, stands ace high with Chief Watts, of the Boston inspectors; and if it comes right, we can make a strong pull for you at headquarters.” “And you’ll do it?” “With pleasure!” “Put it there!” said Mr. Bragg, thrusting out his huge hand. “As for this case, what I get, you get. But that’s between us, mind you!” “My word upon it, I’ll do nothing to get in your way.” “That’s good enough for me, sir!” Thus Sheridan made an impression, and paved the way to securing information from the one man who, his own detective instinct told him, would know more of the superficial features of this tragedy than all the rest of the community combined. “Was this Moore’s desk?” he now carelessly asked, turning to a piece of furniture near one of the windows. “Yes, sir, ’twas.” “It is much disturbed. Was he in the habit of keeping money in it?” “I reckon not. But some one went through it last night, that’s plain. Most likely a search for papers.” “Possibly a will.” “My idea exactly. Say, you’re tolerably clever yourself! Well, I’ll gamble I can name who did it.” “I hope so. If you can, it will be one feather in your cap.” “I’ll have many in it afore this case is ended. Come down this way, and I’ll show you something more. But this is between us, mind you!” “If you doubt me, keep it to yourself.” “Oh, no; I’ll trust you! I can read a man’s face, and don’t you forget it.”