His eyes were pale blue, deeply set and
small, but still of a keen brilliancy.
"You're a detective inspector of Scotland Yard," continued Ganns,
"and Scotland Yard is still the high-water mark of police
organization in the world. The Central Bureau in New York is pretty
close up, and I've nothing but admiration for the French and
Italian Secret Services; but the fact remains: The Yard is first;
and you've won, and fairly won your place there. That's a big thing
and you didn't get it without some work and some luck, Brendon. But
now--this Redmayne racket. You were right on the spot, hit the trail
before it was cold, had everything to help you that heart of man
could wish for; yet a guy who had joined the force only a week
before could have done no worse. In a word, your conduct of the
affair don't square with your reputation. Your dope never cut any
ice from the start. And why? Because, without a doubt, you had a
theory and got lost in it."
"Don't think that. I never had a theory."
"Is that so? Then failure lies somewhere else.
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