movements."

"But it is an outrage!" cried Coverly hotly. "What the devil do _I_
know about Marcus's death?"

"I am perfectly convinced that you know nothing whatever; but then I
have known you for many years. The 'Fleet Street tribe' to whom you
refer merely regard you as a unit of our rather large population. In a
case of this kind, Coverly, all men are equal."

Whilst I had been delivering myself of this somewhat priggish
speech--designed, I may add, in self-defense, to spur Coverly to a
rejoinder which might throw some light upon the mystery--he had
regarded me with an expression of ever increasing dislike. I noted
that there were shadows under his eyes, and that he was in a highly
nervous and excited condition. He had slept but little I judged during
the last forty-eight hours and had possibly had recourse to stimulants
to enable him to face the new trials which arose with every day.

"I don't feel called upon," he said angrily, "to give an account of my
movements to every policeman who cares to inquire. I know nothing
whatever about the matter. I have said so, and I am not accustomed to
have my word doubted."

"My dear Coverly," said I, "you must be perfectly well aware that
sooner or later you will have to relinquish this heroic pose. Will you
allow no one to advise you? You will have to answer the coroner, and
if you persist in this extraordinary refusal to give a simple answer
to a simple question, surely you realize that the matter will be
transferred to a higher tribunal?"