“Don’t seem to be much to go on, does there?” said Algy disconsolately.
“Dam’ little,” agreed Hugh cheerfully. “In fact if you boil down to it, nothing at all. But you never can tell, old boy. I saw a baby with a squint this morning and passed under two ladders, so all may yet be well. Though I greatly fear nothing will come of it. I thought vaguely yesterday that we might get some fun by means of these notes of the old man’s, but ’pon my soul—I don’t know how. In the first place, they’re indecipherable; and even if they weren’t, I couldn’t make a diamond in a thousand years. In the second place, they don’t belong to us; and in the third it would look remarkably like blackmail. Of course, they’re our only hope, but I’m afraid they won’t amount to much in our young lives.”
He sighed profoundly, and replaced the envelope in his pocket.
“Oh! for the touch of a vanished hand,” he murmured. “Carl—my Carl—it cannot be that we shall never meet again. I feel, Algy, that if only he could know the position of affairs he would burst into tears and fly to our assistance. He’d chance the notes being unintelligible if he knew what they were about. Once again would he try to murder me with all his well-known zest. What fun it would all be!”
“Not a hope,” said Algy. “Though I must say I do rather wonder what the blighter is doing now.”
To be exact, he was just putting the last final touch on the aquiline nose of Edward Blackton, and remarking to himself that everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Replaced carefully on their respective pegs were the egg-stained garments of Professor Scheidstrun; the grey wig carefully combed out occupied its usual headrest.
And not without reason did Edward Blackton—alias Carl Peterson—alias the Comte du Guy, etc.—feel pleased with himself. Never in the course of his long and brilliant career had a coup gone with such wonderful success. It almost staggered him when he thought about it. Not a hitch anywhere; not even the suspicion of a check. Everything had gone like clockwork from beginning to end, thereby once again bearing out the main theory of his life, which was that the bigger the coup the safer it was. It is the bank clerk with his petty defalcations who gets found out every time; the big man does it in millions and entertains Royalty on the proceeds. But in his line of business, as in every other, to get big results the original outlay must be big. And it was on that point that Mr. Blackton felt so particularly pleased. For the original outlay in this case had not only been quite small, but, in addition, had been generously found by the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate. Which tickled his sense of humour to such an extent that once or twice it had quite interfered with the delicate operation of face-building.
But at last he had finished, and with his Corona drawing to his entire satisfaction he locked up his inner sanctuary and stepped into the room which served him as an office. At three o’clock he was to meet Sir Raymond Blantyre and receive from him the remaining quarter of a million in notes; at three-fifteen he would be on his way to the house Freyder had acquired for him to begin business in earnest. A note from Freyder received that morning had stated that Professor Goodman, though a little dazed, seemed in no way to have suffered from his uncomfortable journey, which was eminently satisfactory. For it was certainly no part of his play to treat his prisoner with anything but the utmost care and consideration, unless, of course, he should prove foolish. For a moment Blackton’s eyes narrowed at the thought; then he gave the faintest possible shrug of his shoulders. Sufficient unto the day, and he had dealt with such cases—before.
So after a final look round the room he carefully pulled down the blinds and went downstairs. Mr. William Anderson was leaving London for another of his prolonged visits abroad.
His anticipations that there would be no trouble over the second payment were justified. Sir Raymond Blantyre and three other members of the syndicate were awaiting his arrival, and the expressions on their faces reminded him of young girls being introduced to a man who mother has told them is very wicked and not at all a nice person to know.
“Well, gentlemen,” he remarked affably, “I trust you are satisfied. This—er—fortunate accident has settled things very pleasantly for all concerned, has it not?”
“It really was an accident?” said Sir Raymond, and his voice shook a little.
“Surely, Sir Raymond, your pitiable agitation in court this morning was not so great as to prevent your hearing the verdict? And that, I think, is all that concerns any of us; that, and the fact that Professor Goodman will not deliver his address to the Royal Society which was the raison d’être of our meeting. And so shall we terminate the business?”
In silence Sir Raymond handed over the notes which Blackton carefully folded and placed in his pocketbook.
“Delightful weather, is it not?” he said courteously. “My—ah—daughter tells me that Montreux has never been more lovely.”
“You are going back to Switzerland at once?” said Sir Raymond.
“Who knows?” answered the other. “I am a man of moods.” He picked up his hat, and a faint smile hovered round his lips. “But I certainly feel that I have earned a holiday. Well, gentlemen—I will say goodbye. Possibly we may meet again, though I doubt if I
