Indeed, the thought flashed through my own brain
that the disappointment, the chagrin of failure, had been too much
for Godfrey.
He burst into laughter as he saw our faces.
"No, I'm not mad," he said, more soberly; "and I'm not joking. I'm
speaking in deadly earnest, Simmonds, when I say that this fellow is
the biggest catch we could make. He's the greatest criminal of modern
times--I repeat it, Lester, this time without qualification. And now,
perhaps, you'll agree with me."
And with Armand, so finished, so self-poised, so distinguished, in my
mind, and the body of his latest victim before my eyes, I nodded
gloomily.
"But who is he?" I asked. "Do you know who he is, Godfrey?"
"There's the ambulance," broke in Simmonds, as a knock came at the
street door, and he hurried down to open it.
"Come on, Lester," and Godfrey hooked his arm through mine. "There's
nothing more we can do here. We'll go down the back way. I've had
enough excitement for the time being--haven't you?"
"I certainly have," I agreed, and he led the way back along the hall
to another stair, down it and so out through the laundry.
"But, Godfrey, who is this man?" I repeated. "Why did he kill that
poor fellow up there? Why did he kill Drouet and Vantine? How did he
get into the Vantine house? What is it all about?"
"Ah!" he said, looking at me with a smile.
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