For a while the directors conferred together in whispers; then Sir Raymond advanced towards the table. The first thing was to get rid of Drummond.
“I am sure we are all very much obliged to you, Captain Drummond, for taking so much trouble and coming round to see us, but I don’t think there is anything more you can do. Should an opportunity arise I will take steps to let Professor Scheidstrun know what we think—”
He held out a cordial hand to terminate the interview.
But it takes two people to terminate an interview, and Drummond had no intention of being the second. He realised that he was on delicate ground and that it behoved him to walk warily. But his conviction that something was wrong somewhere was stronger than ever, and he was determined to try to get to the bottom of it.
“It might perhaps be as well, Sir Raymond,” he remarked, “to go round and tell him now. I know where he is stopping.”
Was it his imagination, or did the men in the window look at one another uneasily?
“As I told you, I pulled the poor old bean’s nose this morning, and it seems a good way of making amends.”
Sir Raymond stared at him.
“May I ask why you pulled his nose?”
And Drummond decided on a bold move.
“Because, Sir Raymond, I came to the conclusion that Professor Scheidstrun was not Professor Scheidstrun, but somebody else.” There was no mistaking the air of tension now. “I may say that I was mistaken.”
“Who did you think he was?” Sir Raymond gave a forced laugh.
“A gentleman of international reputation,” said Drummond quietly, “who masquerades under a variety of names. I knew him first as Carl Peterson, but he answers to a lot of titles. The Comte de Guy is one of them.”
And now the atmosphere was electric, a fact which did not escape Drummond. His eyes had narrowed; he was sitting very still. In the language of the old nursery game, he was getting warm.
“But I conclusively proved, gentlemen,” he continued, “that the man to whom I handed those notes this morning was not the Comte de Guy. The Comte, gentlemen, has arms as big as mine. His physical strength is very great. This man had arms like walking-sticks, and he couldn’t have strangled a mouse.”
One by one the men at the window had returned to their seats, and now they sat in perfect silence staring at Drummond. What on earth was this new complication, or was this man deliberately deceiving them?
“Do you know the Comte de Guy well?” said Sir Raymond after a pause.
“Very well,” remarked Drummond. “Do you?”
“I have heard of him,” answered the other.
“Then, as you probably know, his power of disguising himself is so miraculous as to be uncanny. He has one little mannerism, however, which he sometimes shows in moments of excitement, whatever his disguise. And it has enabled me to spot him on one or two occasions. When therefore I saw that little trick of his in the lawyer’s office this morning, I jumped to the conclusion that my old friend was on the warpath again. So I leaped upon him, and the subsequent scene was dreadful. It was not my old friend at all, but a complete stranger with a vast wife who nearly felled me with a blow on the ear.”
He selected another cigarette with care.
“However,” he continued casually, “it’s a very good thing for you that the process is a dud. Because I am sure nothing would induce him to disregard Professor Goodman’s wishes on the subject if it hadn’t been.”
“You say you know where he is stopping?” said Sir Raymond.
“I do,” answered Drummond.
“Then I think perhaps that it would be a good thing to do as you suggest, and go round and see him now.” He had been thinking rapidly while Drummond was speaking, and one or two points were clear. In some miraculous way this young man had blundered on to the truth. That the man Drummond had met in the lawyer’s office that morning was any other than Blackton he did not for a moment believe. But Blackton had bluffed him somehow, and for the time had thrown him off the scent. The one vital thing was to prevent him getting on to it again. And since there was no way of telling what Drummond would find when he went round to the house, it was imperative that he should be there himself. For if there was one person whom Sir Raymond did not expect to meet there, it was Professor Scheidstrun. And in that event he must be on hand to see what happened.
“Shall we go at once? My car is here.”
“By all means,” said Drummond. “And if there’s room we might take Algy as well. He gets into mischief if he’s left lying about.”
On one point at any rate Sir Raymond’s expectations were not realised. Professor Scheidstrun was at the house right enough; in fact he and his wife had just finished their tea. And neither the worthy Teuton nor his spouse evinced the slightest pleasure on seeing their visitors. With the termination of the funeral they had believed their troubles to be over, and now this extremely powerful and objectionable young man had come to worry them again, to say nothing of his friend who had spoken to the Professor at the funeral. And what did Sir Raymond Blantyre want? Scheidstrun had been coached carefully as to whom and what Sir Raymond was, but what on earth had he come round about? Especially with Drummond?
It was the latter who stated the reason of their visit.
“I’ve come about those notes, Professor,” he remarked cheerfully. “You know—the ones that caused that slight breeze in old Tootem’s office this morning.”
“So,” grunted the Professor, blinking uneasily behind his spectacles. It struck him that the ground was getting dangerous.
“I feel,” went on Drummond affably, “that after our unfortunate little contretemps I ought to try to make some amends. And
