“Oh, as for them, Trafford’s got them beyond doubt. They were last seen on the writing-pad, and he made quite a show of taking that. It was nothing but a cover for the papers, of course. You’ve got to open negotiations with him for their purchase, but you can’t do that so long as he thinks they may have something to do with the murder. When the question of the murder’s out of the way, then the papers ’ll simply be papers and you can make quick work of ’em: another reason why you ought to arrest Oldbeg and get that settled.” “But my brother’s positive Oldbeg had nothing to do with the murder, and whatever his interest may be, he’s not going to let an innocent man suffer an unjust arrest. I’m confident, unless you can give him positive proofs in the matter, he’ll not allow it to be done.” “Well,” said the man sulkily, “I’m in your employ and shall obey orders, but if I was working on the case as a public matter, I’d have the arrest made and made quick.” Mr. Charles Hunter was obdurate. He declared that enough injustice had already been done in turning public suspicion against the man without a shred to hang it on, and he was not going to be a party to keeping it up. “It’ll take the man years to recover from it now,” he affirmed; “and an arrest would down him forever. Oh, yes, I know you bring in a motive in a petty fuss that occurred on Sunday--a thing that might happen anywhere and to any one. A man going to see his girl gets miffed because he has to harness a horse and is impertinent, and you conclude that that’s reason for his shooting his employer. It’s against all reason and common sense, and I won’t insult my intelligence by considering it.” “Most murders are against reason and common sense,” said the detective; “at least, that’s my experience, and more than that, nine murders out of ten are for absolutely trivial causes. Before you get through with this case, you’ll see Oldbeg arrested, or I’ll miss my guess.” “Well, I shan’t be responsible for it,” the other retorted. Thwarted in this part of his search, Cranston turned his attention to tracing Wing’s mother, to which both Hunter and the Matthewsons appeared to attach considerable importance--more, in fact, than he could find in it. Confessedly, it was a cover or subterfuge and meant the unearthing of a secret that might ruin a woman’s good name for a mistake made forty years before. It seemed to him a strange twist of conscience, which revolted at the arrest of a man for a crime of which circumstances tended to show him guilty, while it gave willing assent to bringing to light that which might have been lived down years before and redeemed by a clean life during more years than any of these men had lived.