He smiled genially as he lit a cigar.
“And you,” said the German, “you do not the funeral attend?”
“My dear Professor,” murmured the other, “you surprise me. In what capacity do you suggest that I should attend this melancholy function? Even the mourners might be a trifle surprised if they saw two of us there. And as Mr. William Robinson—my present role—I had not the pleasure of the deceased gentleman’s acquaintance. No; I am going into the country to join my brother—the poor fellow is failing a little mentally. Freyder will make all arrangements for your departure tomorrow, and so I will say goodbye. You have committed to memory—have you not?—the hours and days when you did things in London before you arrived? And destroyed the paper? Good; a document of that sort is dangerous. Finally, Professor, don’t forget your well-known reputation for absentmindedness and eccentricity. Should anyone ask you a question about your doings in London which you find difficult to answer, just give your celebrated imitation of a windmill and say nothing. I may remark that if Freyder’s telephone report to me is satisfactory this evening, I shall have no hesitation in doubling the amount I suggested as your fee.”
With a wave of his hand he was gone, and Professor Scheidstrun and his wife watched the big car drive away from the door.
“Gott in Himmel,” muttered the German. “But the man is a devil.”
“His money is far from the devil,” replied his wife prosaically. “If he doubles it, we shall have five hundred pounds. And five hundred pounds will be very useful just now.”
But her husband was not to be comforted.
“I am frightened, Minna,” he said tremulously. “We know not what we are mixed up in. He has told us nothing as to why he is doing all this.”
“He has told us all that he wishes us to know,” answered his wife. “That is his way.”
“Why is he dressed up like that?” continued the Professor. “And how did Goodman really die?” He stared fearfully at his wife. “Blown up? Yes. But—by whom?”
“Be silent, Heinrich,” said his wife, but fear was in her eyes too. “It is not good to think of these things. Let us have lunch, and then you must go to the funeral. And after that he will send us the money, as he did last time, and we will go back to Dresden. Then we will pray the good God that he will leave us alone.”
“What frightens me, Minna, is that it is I who am supposed to have been with Goodman on the afternoon it happened. And if the police should find out things, what am I to say? Already there are people who suspect—that big man this morning, for instance. How am I to prove that it was not I, but that devil made up to look like me? Mein Gott, but he is clever. I should not have hidden myself away as he told me to do in his letter.”
“He would have found out if you hadn’t,” said his wife. “He knows everything.”
“There was no one who saw us start,” went on the German excitedly. “At least no one who saw me start. You they saw—but me, I was smuggled into the aeroplane. Everything is accounted for by that devil. It is impossible for me to prove an alibi. For four days I have concealed myself; our friends all think, as you told them, that I have gone to England. They think you follow, and they will see us return. Would anyone believe us if now we said it was all a lie? They would say—why did you remain hidden? What was the object of all this deceit? And I—what can I say? That I am in the power of someone whom, to save my life, I cannot describe. No one would believe me; it would make my position worse.”
He grew almost hysterical in his agitation.
“There is one comfort, my dear,” said his wife soothingly. “As long as everyone believes that it was you who was with Professor Goodman they are not likely to suspect very much. For foul play there must be a motive, and there could be no motive in your case. No, Heinrich, that devil has foreseen everything. No one was suspicious except the big man this morning, and now he is suspicious no longer. All that we have to do is just what we are told, and we shall be safe. But, mein Gott, I wish that we were on board that foul machine again, even though I shall assuredly be sick the whole way.”
The worthy woman rose and placed a hand like a leg of mutton on her husband’s shoulder.
“Lunch,” she continued. “And then you must go to the funeral, while I await you here.”
And so an hour later Professor Scheidstrun, fortified by a most excellent meal, chartered a taxi and drove off to attend the ceremony. After all, his wife was a woman of sound common sense, and there was much in what she said. Moreover, five hundred pounds was not obtained every day. With his usual diabolical cleverness that man, whose real name even he did not know, had so arranged things that his scheme would succeed. He always did succeed; this would be no exception. And provided the scheme was successful, he personally would be safe.
He stepped out at the church door and paid his fare. A celebrated Scotch chemist whom he knew, and who was entering the church at the same moment, stopped and spoke a few words with him, and for a while they stood chatting on the pavement outside. Then the
