“Ah?” The listener’s tone was only politely interrogatory.

“A case here in London—­perhaps you have heard of it?  The murder of a woman, once well-known before the footlights, by a one-time champion of the ring—­the ’Frisco Pet, I think he was called.”

The other moved slightly; his back had been toward Forsythe; he now half-turned.  “Yea, I have heard of it,” he said slowly, after a pause.  “But why should this case across the water interest you; because it is like—­this other one you mention?”

“Because I once puzzled a bit over that one; investigated it somewhat on my own account, don’t you know.”

“In what way?” Steele’s manner was no longer indifferent.  “I’m rather familiar with some of the details myself,” he added.

“Then it attracted you, too, as an investigator?” murmured the captain in a gratified tone.  “For your book, perhaps?”

“Not exactly.  But you haven’t yet told me,” in a keen, alert tone, “why you looked into it, ‘on your own account.’  It seems simple, obvious.  Not of the kind that would attract one fond of nice criminal problems.”

“That is just it,” said Captain Forsythe, rising.  “It was, perhaps, a little too simple! too obvious.”

“How,” demanded John Steele, “can a matter of this sort be too obvious?  But,” bending his eyes on the other, “you attended the trial of this fellow?” His tone vibrated a little oddly.

“The last part of it; wasn’t in England when it first came on; and what I heard of it raised some questions and doubts in my mind.  Not that I haven’t the greatest respect for English justice!  However, I didn’t think much more about the case until a good many months later, when chance alone drew my attention more closely to it.”

“Chance?”

“Was down in the country—­jolly good trout district—­when one night, while riding my favorite hobby, I happened to get on this almost-forgotten case of the ’Frisco Pet.  Whereupon the landlord of the inn where I put up, informed me that one of the villagers in this identical little town had been landlady at the place where the affair occurred.”

“The woman who testified no one had been to her place that night except—­” John Steele spoke sharply.

“This fellow?  Quite so.”  Captain Forsythe walked up and down.  “Now, I’d always had a little theory.  Could never get out of my mind one sentence this poor, ignorant fellow uttered at the trial.  ’Seems as if I could remember a man’s face, a stranger’s, that looked into mine that night, your Lordship, but I ain’t exactly cock-sure!’ ’Ain’t exactly cock-sure,’” repeated Captain Forsythe.  “That’s what caught me.  Would a man, not telling the truth, be not quite ‘cock-sure’; or would he testify to the face as a fact?” The other did not answer.  “So the impression grew on me.  Can you understand?”

“Hum!  Very interesting, Forsythe; very ingenious; quite plausible!”

“Now you’re laughing at me, Steele?”