What about him?"
"Well, sir," said the constable, "I took all the men's addresses
and had them all watched. It wasn't serious enough to do more than
that. All the other addresses are all right. But this man Keith
gave a false address. The place doesn't exist."
The breakfast table was nearly flung over as Rupert sprang up,
slapping both his thighs.
"Well, by all that's good," he cried. "This is a sign from heaven."
"It's certainly very extraordinary," said Basil quietly, with
knitted brows. "It's odd the fellow should have given a false
address, considering he was perfectly innocent in the--"
"Oh, you jolly old early Christian duffer," cried Rupert, in a
sort of rapture, "I don't wonder you couldn't be a judge. You
think every one as good as yourself. Isn't the thing plain enough
now? A doubtful acquaintance; rowdy stories, a most suspicious
conversation, mean streets, a concealed knife, a man nearly
killed, and, finally, a false address. That's what we call glaring
goodness."
"It's certainly very extraordinary," repeated Basil. And he
strolled moodily about the room. Then he said: "You are quite
sure, constable, that there's no mistake? You got the address
right, and the police have really gone to it and found it was a
fraud?"
"It was very simple, sir," said the policeman, chuckling.
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