while Chief Manning
dared not venture an opinion. But a majority of the other detectives
engaged on the case seemed confident that Collins was the man. Fanwell
wondered whether Britz had been led into an error of judgment.

Over Collins a slow transformation was creeping. His eyes, which had
blazed indignantly while he was talking, now clouded with a dull mist.
The tense expression of his face relaxed and his head sank on his
shoulders. He was quickly passing into a state of sodden stupefaction.

Being unfamiliar with Collins's habits and his capacity for drink,
Fanwell was trying desperately to think of some means of restoring the
drunken man to a condition in which his perverted sense of injuries
suffered would inspire his tongue to further revelations.

"Is he a chronic drunk or an occasional drinker?" the detective
whispered to Cooper.

"Chronic," came the whispered reply.

"Then he'll recover in a few minutes."

They waited while Collins surrendered completely to the conquering
stupor, which seemed more like a heavy sleep brought on by physical
exhaustion than the overpowering effect of whisky fumes. His heavy
eyelids closed, his jaw hung, he breathed through his mouth. After a
time Fanwell shook the unconscious Collins until all the drowsiness left
him.

"We're going to dinner," he said. "Come and join!"

Collins waved a repudiating hand.

"Don't want any food," he growled. "Give me a drink."

He was induced to accompany his friends into the dining-room. The smell
of food provoked his appetite and he ordered an elaborate meal. When it
came he could not eat it. But two or three glasses of champagne revived
him temporarily, long enough for him to note the chilling contempt with
which the other diners in the room regarded him. After indulging in a
long volley of profanity, his mood underwent another change. He grew
morose, introspective, self-pitying.

"Nobody cares for me!" he whined. "They've all turned against me. But
there's one that would have stood by me--she's dead!"

His memory of her grew suddenly tender and tears filled his bleary eyes.

"She was all right--a good girl but stubborn," he proceeded in a maudlin
way. "Got the marriage craze! Wanted me to let my wife get a divorce and
marry her! She didn't want to live dishonored all her life. And she
killed herself--poor Julia!"

As the name dropped from his lips, Collins bolted upright in his chair.

"I'm going to the flat," he said. "That's