This man could not have known that Daisy was in church, and may have just gone there to kill time.
But when he saw her and knew who she was, I daresay he wrote that note asking her to come outside and be told all about me."
"It might be so. Was the note found?"
"Not to my knowledge.
But you should know, being a detective."
"I'm not omniscient," replied Steel good-humoredly; "it is only in novels that you get the perfect person who never makes a mistake. Well, to resume.
I don't see why the clerk should have killed Miss Kent."
"He did not kill her," insisted Morley. "I was in the room with him from the time he entered by the door to the time he left by that middle window.
He had no chance of stealing the stiletto.
Now Miss Denham had, for she was in the room alone for a few moments."
"But why should she have taken the clerk with her on the car?
If she killed the girl her object must have been to escape herself?"
"I can't explain.
Perhaps this clerk saw the crime and hoped to make money out of it.
Had he given the alarm he wouldn't have gained any reward.
So I suppose he mounted the car with her, so that she should not escape him."
"A wild theory."
"It's the only one I can think of," responded Morley; "but if you want to know more of this man go up to Asher, Son, and Asher.
I daresay they will be able to give you his history."
"And the Scarlet Cross?"
"I know nothing about that.
I did not even notice if the man had such a cross on his chain.
In fact," added Morley frankly, "he was too shabby and poverty-stricken to have a chain.
I think Anne Denham killed Daisy; you think this man did, and——"
"Pardon," protested Steel. "I have not yet made up my mind.
But the two fled together, and there must be some reason for that."
"If so, it will be found in the past history of both, or either.
You know where to look for the man.
I can get from my wife the address of the Governesses' Institute where she engaged Miss Denham.
That is all I can do, unless I take up the case myself."
Steel looked up with a laugh.
He was copying the address of the solicitors from the summons, but could not help pausing to reply to this egotistical remark.
"Why, Mr. Morley, what do you know of such work?" he asked, bantering.
"Much more than you would give me credit for.
Did you ever hear of—by the way, this is another of my secrets I am telling you, so please don't repeat it."
"Are you going to say that you were in the profession?"
"I am.
You may have heard of Joe Bart."
"I should think so," said Steel quickly. "He had a splendid reputation, and was much thought of.
But he retired before I came to London.
I was in the country police for a long time.
But"—he started up—"you don't mean to say that——"
"That I am Joe Bart?" interrupted Morley, not ill-pleased. "Yes, I do.
I retired over ten years ago, more fool I.
You see, Steel, I grew wearied of thief-catching, and as I had a chance of marrying a widow with money, I took the offer and retired.
But"—he looked at the summons—"the game wasn't worth the candle. I have had nothing but trouble.
Still, I am devoted to my wife and her children."
"And you have forgotten your former glory," said Steel enthusiastically; "surely not.
That Hatton Garden jewel robbery, the man with the red coat who committed the Lichfield murder, and——"
"I remember them all," said Morley, with gentle melancholy. "I have a full report of all the cases I was engaged in yonder"—he nodded to a distant shelf. "Sometimes I take those volumes down and think what an ass I was to retire."