"If you care to. And if you are willing to work in my way. I am somewhat impatient of interference or questioning. But, if you want to assist in investigating, under my absolute orders, I shall be glad to have you do so." Nothing was further from Hardy's mind than to interfere or to show any undue curiosity concerning the work or methods of the great Detective. He was more than content to watch silently, to run errands, and to make himself useful in any way desired by his superior. He said this, and Stone nodded indulgently. "I shall begin with this matter of the arrest of Count Charlier," said Stone, as he looked over his note-book. "Either that man is the guilty party or he is not. If not, he must be released. If so, it must be proven. What do you know of his history, Mr. Haviland?" "Very little, Mr. Stone. In the first place, I doubt his right to the title he assumes." "You do? And why?" Haviland looked a little embarrassed. "I'm not sure I know why. But he doesn't act like a real Count." "Yes? And how do real Counts act, I mean in ways that differ from this man's habits?" "You're having fun with me, Mr. Stone," and Gray blushed like a school-boy. "But I mean it. It's this way. I'm not a Count, but if I wanted to pretend I was, I'd act just as Count Charlier does. There!" "Good! That's definite, at least. Now make it a little more so by describing some of these actions." "Well," and Haviland's brow wrinkled, "well, to begin with, his manners are too slick and polished." "A traditional trait of Frenchmen." "Yes, if real. But his seem artificially, purposely,--oh, _fakely_ polished! Have you seen him, Mr. Stone?" "No, not yet." "When you do, you'll see what I mean. He has shifty eyes, and he rubs his hands together, and if he's standing, he half bows with every sentence he utters, and he smirks instead of smiling, and his whole attitude is a fifty-fifty of apology and bumptiousness." "Bravo! You've given a graphic picture of him at all events. I'll reserve further consideration of his personality until I have seen him." "You believe implicitly all that story of Bates, do you, Mr. Stone?" and Haviland looked dubiously at the Detective. "Yes, I do, at present. If anything turns up to disprove any part of it I may have to revise my ideas. But just now, it seems to me that Bates told the simple truth. To be sure, he only told it because he feared an accusation of murder, and he knew that to confess to the lesser crime would go far to help him deny the greater." "You may be right. But might there not be collusion between Friend Count and Bates?" "Collusion?" "Just that," and Gray shook his head doggedly. "I've a vague idea that Frenchy is mixed up in this thing somehow. Now, he couldn't possibly have administered the poison, himself, personally, nor could he have struck the blow personally, but couldn't he have hired the man Bates to do it for him?"