Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City DetectiveM'Govan, James
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Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective
M'Govan, James
Detective and mystery stories; Edinburgh (Scotland) -- Fiction
I had expected Mr Bannister’s face to lighten up and express
astonishment as I proceeded, but instead it became darker and more
troubled.
“Why do you ask?” he at length answered in a helpless tone.
“Because we know him to be a daring criminal, and suspect that the
money was obtained by robbery, and possibly without your knowledge.”
“Is that all that brought you here?” he demanded, with a look of
intense relief. “Did he make no other statement of any kind?”
“None except that we could refer the matter to you for confirmation
of his statement, and for that purpose I have called.”
“Oh, if that is all,” he readily answered, looking now positively
radiant, “I can readily relieve your anxiety. I did pay him the
money, freely and willingly, for work done.”
“For work done!” I echoed, a good deal staggered, and thoroughly
puzzled. “Have you any objection to say what kind of work it was?”
“I have. It is not necessary to go into details,” he coldly returned.
“You are aware, then, of the character of the man you have employed?”
I continued, with undisguised disappointment.
“I believe him to be a scoundrel,” he faintly and somewhat wearily
answered. “I know nothing of his private character, and care less.”
“Then we are to conclude that we have made a mistake in arresting
him, and that we have no just cause for detaining him?” I pursued,
trying in vain to read in his face the real secret.
“Exactly. You have made a mistake, but it was a natural one on your
part, seeing, as you say, that the man is a professional criminal,”
he dejectedly responded. “By the way,” he added, with more animation,
“I wonder that a man like you does not lay such a rascal by the
heels. Is he too clever for even you?”
“That remains to be seen,” I dryly returned. “He will not be at
liberty a moment longer than I can help.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” said the gentleman, shaking me
warmly by the hand. “When you do get him, and ensure his conviction,
come to me and I will put a £5 note in your hand as an honorarium.”
“Honour among thieves!” was my contemptuous thought. “There is some
bond of villainy between the two, and now this man wishes to get rid
of his leech. I wonder if I could not take them both?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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