During this monologue the pair had strolled far afield with their cigars, and Langholm was beginning to puff his furiously.  At first he had merely marvelled at the other’s coolness; now every feeling in his breast was outraged by the callousness, the flippancy, the cynicism of his companion.  There came a moment when Langholm could endure the combination no longer.  Steel seemed disposed to discuss every aspect of the subject except that of the investigations upon which his very life might depend.  Langholm glanced at him in horror as they walked.  The broad brim of his Panama hat threw his face in shadow to the neck; but to Langholm’s heated imagination, it was the shadow of the black cap and of the rope itself that he saw out of the corners of his eyes.  It was the shadow that had lit upon the wife the year before, happily to lift forever; now it was settling upon the husband; and it rested with Langholm—­if it did rest with him—­and how could he be sure?  His mind was off at a tangent.  He was not listening to Steel; without ceremony he interrupted at last.

“I thought you came out to listen to me?”

“My dear fellow,” cried Steel, “and so, to be sure, I did!  Why on earth did you let me rattle on?  Let me see—­the point was—­ah, yes!  Of course, my dear Langholm, you haven’t really anything of any account to tell?  I considered you a Quixote when you undertook your quest; but I shall begin to suspect a dash of Munchausen if you tell me you have found out anything in the inside of a week!”

“Nevertheless,” said Langholm, grimly, “I have.”

“Anything worth finding out?”

“I think so.”

“You don’t mean to tell me you have struck a clew?”

“I believe I can lay hands upon the criminal,” said Langholm, as quietly as he could.  But he was the more nervous man of the two.

The other simply stood still and stared his incredulity.  The stare melted into a smile.  “My dear fellow!” he murmured, in a mild blend of horror and reproof, as though it were the fourth dimension that Langholm claimed to have discovered.  It cost the discoverer no small effort not to cry out that he could lay hands on him then and there.  The unspoken words were gulped down, and a simple repetition substituted at the last.

“I could swear to him myself,” added Langholm.  “It remains to be seen whether there is evidence enough to convict.”

“Have you communicated with the police?”

“Not yet.”

“They seem to have some absurd bee in their helmet down here, you know.”

“They don’t get it from me.”

It was impossible any longer to doubt the import of Langholm’s earnest and rather agitated manner.  He was doing his best to suppress his agitation, but that strengthened the impression that he had indeed discovered something which he himself honestly believed to be the truth.  There was an immediate alteration in the tone and bearing of his host.