He was getting out of his car when a brace of eager reporters accosted him.

“The Standard would like to have you say a few words for publication,” said one.

“The Herald will give you what space you require for a statement at any time you see fit to make use of it,” declared the other.

“I’m very sorry,” said Ashton-Kirk, brushing a speck of dust from an immaculate sleeve, “but I have nothing to say that would interest your city editors, or the public.  I have no doubt but that the police officials will be glad to acquaint you with anything new that has transpired—­if there has been anything new.”

The newspaper men pulled wry faces.

“The police hang onto the Italian musician and profess to think he’s the guilty party,” said one.  “If they have taken any steps beyond this, before to-day, we have not known of it.”

“Why have the detectives been placed to watch Miss Vale’s house?” asked the other.  “And what has Osborne gone in to talk about?”

“Ah,” said Ashton-Kirk, with interest, “Osborne is within, is he?”

“Yes; and why are you going in?  What has been learned regarding Miss Vale’s connection with the case that has not already been made public?”

“I would hardly undertake to answer that last,” laughed Ashton-Kirk.  “So much has been made public in one way and another that I haven’t been able to keep track of it all.  My own visit is merely a friendly call.  Why Mr. Osborne is here I, of course, cannot say.”

Leaving the newspaper men disappointed and dissatisfied, the investigator rang the bell and was admitted.  In the hall, pulling on his gloves, was Osborne.

“Hello!” exclaimed the latter.  “So you thought you’d have a try, too, eh?”

The big man’s tone showed that he was none too well pleased with his own visit; he jerked at his gloves viciously, and his brow was creased with vexation.  And seeing that the other was disposed to do nothing more than nod, he went on: 

“Well, you’ll have to have a lot better luck than I’ve had, to have any at all.  Miss Vale, it seems, is a young lady who knows very well how to say nothing.  I’ve been here something like an hour and have put her through a regular third degree; but I’ve had my labor for my pains, as the saying is.  She has told me nothing except her opinion of the newspapers and the police.”

“Miss Vale will see you, sir,” said the man servant, returning.

“And so you’ve given it up?” queried the investigator of Osborne.

The big headquarters man shrugged his shoulders.

“Hardly,” said he.  “I’ve set a time on the thing.  We scarcely like to go to extremes, as you perhaps know; but unless a clean breast of the matter is made, as far as the party knows,” modifying his language because of the listening servant, “the same party will know what the inside of a cell is like by this time to-morrow.”