'Hum! Hum! Hum!' said Dr Graham to himself, 'there's too much zeal altogether. I wonder what M. de Talleyrand would have thought of these cabbages and their zeal. Well, Mr Inspector,' he added aloud, 'so you've finished off the matter nicely.' 'We have done our best, Dr Graham, sir.' 'And you don't know who killed the man?' 'No, sir, I don't; and what's more, I don't believe anybody ever will know.' 'Humph, that's your opinion, is it? Do you read much, Mr Inspector?' 'A novel at times, sir. I'm fond of a good novel.' 'Then let me recommend to your attention the works of a French author, by name Gaboriau. There's a man in them called Lecoq, who would have found out the truth, Mr Inspector.' 'Fiction, Dr Graham, sir! Fiction.' 'True enough, Mr Inspector, but most fiction is founded on fact.' 'Well, sir,' said Tinkler, with a superior wise smile, 'I should like to see our case in the hands of your Mr Lecoq.' 'So should I, Mr Inspector, or in the hands of Sherlock Holmes. Bless me, Tinkler, they'd do almost as much as you have done. It is a pity that you are not a character in fiction, Tinkler.' 'Why, sir? Why, may I ask?' 'Because your author might have touched you up in weak parts, and have gifted you with some brains. Good-day, Mr Inspector.' While Graham walked away chuckling at his banter of this red-tape official, the official himself stood gasping like a fish out of the water, and trying to realise the insult levelled at his dignity. Jobson--a small man--sidled round to the front of him and made a comment on the situation. 'It all comes of your not measuring them footmarks,' said Jobson. 'In detective novels the clever fellows always do that, but you'd never be put into a book, not you!' 'You'll be put into jail,' cried the outraged inspector. 'It's more than Jentham's murderer will if you've got the catching of him,' said Jobson, and walked off. CHAPTER XVII A CLERICAL DETECTIVE