Unless I do, our whole plan for getting rid of him is
likely to miscarry."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Doyle. "But I couldn't tell you where
he went, not if it was to have him hanged when you caught him."
"I am not going to have him hanged," said Meldon. "I can't; for he
hasn't done anything, so far as I know, that any court would condemn
him for. What I want is to get him married."
"Married, is it?"
"Yes, to Miss King."
"But-- What you said at the first go-off, the day you was within
talking to me and the doctor, was that you'd--"
"I can't possibly enter into a long explanation now," said Meldon; "but
if you want to get rid of Simpkins permanently, you'll rack your brains
and help me to find out where he's gone to-day."
Doyle thought deeply for a couple of minutes.
"Where he's gone," he said at last, "is beyond me. But I took notice
of the trousers he had on him when he was starting. I'm not sure will
it be any use to you to know it, but they was white."
"Good," said Meldon. "As it happens, that fact does throw a great deal
of light on the problem. No man wears white trousers unless he's going
boating on a fine day, or going to play cricket, or going to play lawn
tennis.
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