THE STOLEN FORMULAS
Cleek's first object on getting back to town was to make for Ailsa's
cottage at Hampton.
Always, when staying at the cottage alone, Cleek's disguise was that of
"Cap'n Burbage," guardian of his ward, Ailsa Lorne. Mrs. Condiment, the
housekeeper, therefore, greeted the "Cap'n" heartily on the threshold of
the cottage when he arrived. Ailsa was for the present in safe hands--on
a visit with Mrs. Narkom. Secure, therefore, in his "Cap'n Burbage"
disguise, Cleek went to and fro, with peace and serenity restored to his
soul. So determined was he to have these few days undisturbed that in
spite of his affection for Mr. Narkom, he instructed Mrs. Condiment to
say, in answer to any telephone calls, that he was not at the cottage.
Mr. Narkom, seated in his office at the Yard, a few days later, flung
aside the pen with which he had been beating an idle tattoo, thus
showing the tension and anxiety under which he was almost unbearably
labouring, and wheeled round in his chair. He heard the sound of
footsteps, telling him that his trusted messenger, Hammond, was
returning at last. He gave vent to a little sigh of relief. Now he
would know what had really happened, and be able to prove to a waiting
public and sneering newspapers that Scotland Yard was not "asleep," but
that neither was it to be bullied nor cajoled into blurting out all that
it knew. "Gad," he ejaculated, mentally, wouldn't he like to have some
of those brilliant young cub reporters have his job for a week, and let
them see if they could fathom mysteries, such as were searing his
forehead at the present moment, any quicker than he himself.
The door opened and shut, and Detective-Sergeant Hammond was stepping
briskly across the room.
"Well?" rapped out the Superintendent in a sharp staccato born of
nervous impatience. "A false alarm, wasn't it?"
"No, sir, it's not. It's the greater part of Tooting Common this
time--sheep blown to bits and a few kiddies, too, I'm afraid. I was just
in time to see a second explosion myself, as I got there--that's the
seventh one altogether, and heaven knows what's the cause or reason. And
where will the next one be? The papers will be raving over this
to-night."
"Can't rave more than they've done now. I'd give my head to make those
beastly reporters sit up!"
"There's only one man to help you, sir, beggin' yer pardon." Hammond
dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "That's Mr. Cleek----"
"Do you think I don't know that?" Narkom snapped back, impatiently. "Do
you think I'd have waited till now if I'd known where he was? I've done
nothing but ring that confounded 'phone day in and day out and all I get
is that 'Captain Burbage is away.' Captain Burbage, indeed! To think
that after all these years we can't protect him against those devils of
Apaches without his living in this constant disguise."
"'Tisn't like Mr. Cleek to be long away from the Yard, either," said
Hammond, scratching his head reflectively.
"No. I don't doubt, though, there's some good reason for it, but my
lord! what wouldn't I give to hear his blessed voice or see his face at
this moment!"
Possibly in the whole period of his professional career Mr. Narkom had
never had a wish granted so speedily, for as the words left his lips,
the door behind him flashed open and shut again and there on the
threshold stood a stout, elderly, seafaring man. The sight of him caused
the Inspector fairly to spring from his seat.
"Cleek!" he cried. "Cleek! Lord, I did want you. I----"
Cleek smiled as he bore up under the onslaught. "Thought you would when
I saw the papers," he said. Mr. Narkom snorted as if at the name of a
hated enemy, then turned to Hammond.
"Nor a word outside, Hammond, but tell Lennard to come round at once. We
shall need him!"
Once alone, he turned again to his partner.
"I suppose it's those explosions," said Cleek, as having divested
himself of some of the "Burbage disguise," he dived for a cigarette.
"No, they're an extra burden," said Mr. Narkom, "as if I'm not nearly
mad already! And now there's been another one this morning on Tooting
Common. But it's this Government business that is killing me."
Cleek twitched an inquiring eyebrow and waited patiently for the facts.
"The Kenneth Digby case. I'm expecting him here every minute, but I've
nothing new to tell him."
"Kenneth Digby?" echoed Cleek, a little pucker between his brows. "Any
relation to the soldier and scientist-inventor of that new machine-gun
tried out last year?"
"His son, Cleek. And, as his father is practical guarantee of his
integrity and uprightness, you can imagine what a blow this has been to
Colonel Digby and his family."
"A blow! Does that mean you are trying to tell me that Graham Digby's
son is a traitor to his country?" flung back Cleek in rising tones of
amazement. "Suppose you give me all the facts, old man--just what has
happened."
"It's like this, Cleek," answered Mr. Narkom. "Young Digby is engaged
in laboratory experiments with high explosive; trying, as far as I can
gather, to evolve a smokeless powder---- Good heavens, what's wrong?"
For his famous associate was sitting erect in his seat, his eyes
sparkling and brilliant, his brows twitching with excitement, his breath
coming in gasps.
"Smokeless? Is that the secret? Blithering idiot I was! Of course, a
child would have guessed it. But go on, old man. Don't mind me. I've
been reading the papers, and am just beginning to see."
"Well, it's more than I am," ejaculated Mr. Narkom, blankly. "However,
to continue: it seems that as fast as Digby evolves a formula our Secret
Service reports to the War Office that it is known immediately to a
certain unfriendly foreign power. Well, Digby is nearly frantic, and is
to be here again at 11 o'clock."
"H'm, it's that now," said Cleek, as he glanced out of the window, "and
unless I am mistaken here he comes. Introduce me as Lieutenant Deland in
mufti, will you? I'll have a look into things for myself, directly I
have made a few necessary changes."
And that was why a minute or two elapsed before, after a brief word on
the house 'phone, Captain Digby was shown in. He was a fine, upstanding,
manly-looking young soldier of about eight and twenty, a man with
something of the scholar's refinement in his bearing. But this morning
he was nearly as hysterical as a schoolgirl.
"Oh, Mr. Narkom, help me! For God's sake, solve this mystery!" he cried
as he gripped Mr. Narkom's outstretched hand in his own and pressed it
excitedly. "My father said everything would be all right just as soon as
you had the matter in your hands--but it's gone, another! The horror and
disgrace of it! I shall kill myself in the end!"
"Steady, Captain Digby. Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Deland, who
will help you," said Mr. Narkom.
The young man acknowledged the introduction dumbly, and his look of
appeal went straight to Cleek's heart.
"Look here, get a firm grip on yourself, Captain, or you'll be in a bad
way," said Cleek. "Here, swallow this capsule. Swallow it, man! There,
that's better. Now let me get a clear grasp of the facts of the case,
for I know nothing about it whatever. Begin at the beginning, please.
Just what _has_ happened? What has 'gone'?"
"My latest formula," replied Captain Digby, regaining his composure
somewhat. "I am at work on smokeless powder experiments in my laboratory
down at my country home in Hampshire. It was specially built for me two
years ago when I first took up this work, and I have a special
detachment of police and military to guard it."
"When did you miss this formula?"
"This morning," was the quick answer. "I had been working over it three
days--night and day. Last night I tested the stuff, and the results were
more satisfactory than hitherto, so I made up my mind to knock off and
go to bed--after I had written out the completed formula as usual."
"What did you do with it then?"
Captain Digby passed a hand, stained with chemicals, over his lined
forehead. "That's just it," he almost moaned. "I can't remember. I
thought I locked it up in my little wall safe! I meant to, I know, but
failing that, it lay there on the laboratory table and I must have come
away and left it. In the morning it was gone! I searched the place over,
inch by inch. This is my last chance; the authorities will never get
over this." His head sank down in his hands.
"Where is the laboratory and how is it built?"
"It is at the side of the house, and was originally a stable till we had
it concreted inside and out. Solid six feet of concrete doors,
ceiling--everything.
"Hullo! Concrete everything? How do you see in it?"
"Artificial light always, run by my own generator and dynamo, overhead.
Only one door opens into the laboratory and that is from the
drawing-room inside the house and it is guarded by a soldier. No one
ever enters save myself; no one, not even among the rest of the family,
save my father, knows of the nature of my work. Is it any wonder that
my chief suspects me?"
"Well, there's nothing to be said or done till I come down and see
things for myself," said Cleek, very quietly. "Will there be any
difficulty in your admitting me into the laboratory, by the way?"
"Not a scrap. I shall just say you are another colleague----"
"Another, Captain Digby?" Cleek flashed round on the young man.
"Another? Does that mean that you have had a colleague or assistant
before this?"
"Why, yes--a fellow officer, Captain Brunel--Max Brunel. We are bosom
friends as well. We were at Heidelberg together, and he is the very soul
of honour."
"H'm----" Cleek turned aside to pick up his hat from the rack, a queer
little smile twitching up the left side of his face, and when he looked
back at Captain Digby his gaze was a very intent one, as if he were
asking himself whether the Captain's innocence and belief were real or
assumed.
* * * * *
It was exactly two o'clock when Lieutenant Arthur Deland, tall,
well-set, and debonair, with the stamp of the army all over him, arrived
as arranged at St. Mary's Abbey, Hampshire, the family seat of the
Digbys, which was noted for a wonderful painted shrine of the Virgin
Mary, said to date back to the sixteenth century and renowned throughout
all the southern counties of England.
He found the laboratory exactly as the young scientist had described it,
absolutely sound-proof, light-proof, and as innocent of hole or aperture
in its concrete walls and floor--with the exception of the door leading
from the dining-room--as the inside of an egg.
His introduction to the family--a large one--caused him to be voted an
acquisition to its amusement by its younger and more frivolous members.
Before he had been in the house an hour, the very sight of his
gold-rimmed monocle and the sound of his inane laugh was a signal for
the spoilt Digby twins, aged eight, literally to fling themselves upon
him, notwithstanding the gentle protests of their meek little
fair-haired governess. She had been curtly introduced as Miss Smith by
his hostess, and then allowed to fade away into the obscurity she so
obviously preferred.
Within the next twenty-four hours Lieutenant Deland gained much intimate
knowledge as to the ways and characters of an interesting family.
Fancies are queer things, and he found himself greatly disliking Colonel
Digby's wife, a hard-faced, gushing woman, shrill of voice, and quick to
scold, and he was not surprised to learn that she was the Colonel's
second wife, and not the mother of the Captain at all. According to the
gossip elicited in the servants' hall by Dollops, who had been allowed
to accompany him at the last moment, the dreamy, absent-minded scientist
had been snapped up by the lady, herself a widow, when on a visit to
Vienna. He had found himself married "before he was properly awake," as
Dollops expressed it with a significant grin.
Cleek soon found, too, that her contempt for Captain Kenneth was as
great as her inordinate love for her own son by her first marriage, Max
Wertz, a brilliant young scamp of the class of bar-loafers and
roulette-table haunters. It did not take Cleek long, either, to discover
that, unknown to the old Colonel or Kenneth, both mother and son were
keenly curious as to the work carried on in the concrete laboratory.
Cleek played right up both to mother and son, however, and had the
satisfaction of obtaining from both unqualified approval.
"I say, Deland, you're a good sort," said young Wertz in the
drawing-room that evening--a shade too enthusiastically, perhaps--"but
hang it all, if you can go into that silly old stone coffin of a
laboratory, why can't I? Jealousy, that's it! Old Ken thinks he's the
only one with brains in his head. What--what's it like in there,
anyway?"
"Dem dark, dirty, and smelly, my boy," was the lieutenant's drawled and
expressive reply. "You keep out of it, old sport. Give you my word, my
clothes'll smell of rotten eggs for a week. Hullo, though, who's that
coming out of it now?"
Wertz spun round and looked across at the door which led into the
laboratory. "Oh, that's Brunel," he said, carelessly. "Ken's other self,
alter ego, and all that sort of thing. Can't bear the man myself. I'll
introduce you if you like, and then I'll go along."
He performed the ceremony carelessly enough, and then lounged away
whistling the latest jazz melody.
Left alone, the two men found themselves mentally sizing each other up
as men will do, and Cleek decided silently that he liked the look of Max
Brunel--but not on account of his appearance. That was not very
prepossessing. His face was too scarred from his student days at
Heidelberg, and his clothes, which were stained, also reeked of the
chemical compounds with which he, like his friend Kenneth, spent his
days. But his voice was an attractive one, and his eyes, when unshaded
by disfiguring glasses, were clear though undisguisedly penetrating.
That he had been let into the secret of the vanished formula was evident
by his sudden remark.
"This is a rotten business for Ken, my friend, Mr. Deland. Do you think
you are likely to make any discovery?"
"Well, Mr. Brunel, to tell you the truth and just between ourselves I
don't think there is a ghost of a chance. It's gone. I must get a
squint into the room and write immediately--you have no telephone, have
you?"
"No, Mr. Deland, and only one post. At that all the letters have to go
by motor to the next town. Lately the Colonel has had all letters
censored, so as to be quite sure no knowledge leaks outside."
"There you are, you see--absolutely impossible, don't yer know. I shall
have to stay down here for another day to make things look ship-shape,
but I really think they'll have to put a more brainy chap on to the case
than yours truly. Eh, what?" Deland gave an inane little giggle, and
fixing his monocle turned away, leaving Max Brunel with a frown of
contempt on his fair, stolid face. He continued on his way toward Mrs.
Digby as she stood near the fireplace.
"The youngsters have been telling me about that painted shrine, Mrs.
Digby," he said, twisting his monocle affectedly, and eyeing her with
something very much akin to admiration, which pleased her immensely.
"Sort of thing interests me, doncher-know."
"Indeed? Well, I know little about it myself," she responded with a
forced laugh. "Miss Smith will be able to give you the most assistance
as to the legend. She fairly worships at it, and spends all her spare
time painting pictures of it on postcards and sending them to her
friends. Her father was an archeologist, I believe, and it runs in the
family. If you're interested you should get her to talk on the subject."
She turned at the moment to speak a word to her son, and Cleek made his
way to the door in the wall in order to join Captain Kenneth in the
laboratory. He found him frowning over test-tubes, Bunsen burners, and
retorts. Also he was not alone. Brunel was with him, and at the look of
concentrated interest upon Brunel's face, Cleek's own took on a peculiar
expression.
His entrance caused the two young men to look up, and they came forward
to him, as if eager to help him in some way.
"Going to poke about a bit if you don't mind," he said, smiling, and
proceeded to put the words into immediate action. He searched, he
sniffed--much to their secret amusement--and he took measurements as
would a furniture man preparing to lay a carpet. Finally he climbed up
into the loft where stood the generator and dynamo which supplied
electric current for the laboratory. There was clearly nothing to be
learned there, and as he descended, plainly irritated by his failure, he
found young Digby standing alone in the centre of the room, his hand
pressed to his forehead.
"Got a rotten headache," he explained to Cleek's unspoken inquiry.
"Can't think what's caused it, either, unless it's the gas, and----"
"Gas!" exclaimed Cleek, suddenly. "How's that? I thought you used
electricity for lighting?"
"So we do, but I made some nitrous oxide yesterday--one of the kids had
toothache, and I pulled out the molar. Came like lightning, too, but
that little fool of a governess fainted just as I was going to
administer the gas--you learn to do a lot of things shut off in the
country, you know, sir. So I had to make some more of the stuff. It
escaped, no doubt, and that's what's given me this beastly head."
"Very probably." Cleek's detached air seemed to dismiss the affair. His
eyes were fixed upon one of the Bunsen burners beneath which stood a
retort labelled plainly enough, "Nitrous Oxide." Casually he picked up a
strand of hair and seemed to cast it away, absent-mindedly. Suddenly he
switched round upon his heel.
"Did you have that headache last night?" he asked, his hand resting for
a moment upon the retort.
"No, I didn't notice it, but I was so dead beat that I simply flung
myself down and slept like a log."
"H'm," Cleek said, thoughtfully. "Well, Captain, there is very little to
be gained here. Still, I should like to go through some of the rooms of
the house myself, if you've no objection."
"Why, of course not. Do as you please. But it's no use suspecting the
servants because they couldn't get past the guard, and----"
"I suppose not. But I'll have a talk with that guard, too, if you don't
mind. It's as well to take all precautions."
"By all means."
Cleek followed the Captain out of the room and into the drawing-room,
now empty save for the guard in question, a big man in soldier's uniform
who saluted as they came up to him.
The Captain spoke first:
"Marshall, this gentleman would like to know if any one came in here
last night," he said, quietly. "Speak out."
"No, sir." The man's voice was rough and emphatic. "Only yourself--and
that but for a moment."
"_Myself?_" Captain Digby's voice registered utter amazement. "You're
dreaming, man. I was never down here last night, I'll swear----"
"Beggin' yer pardon, but yer were, sir," responded Marshall, stoutly.
"You just switched on your torch, saying you'd forgotten something, and
was in and out before you could say Jack Robinson. You've 'ad so much on
your 'ands, sir, it's no wonder you forget. Nothin' wrong, is there?"
Cleek's quick voice interposed before the Captain had time to reply, but
his dazed, blank face answered for him.
"No, Marshall, there's nothing wrong at all. Everything, in fact, is
quite in order. The Captain forgot, I expect. That's all I wanted to ask
you. Better come along upstairs, Digby. I'd like to have a word with
your father when I come down, but if you'll be good enough to show me
the way upstairs now----"
The dazed look was still upon the Captain's face as he led Cleek
upstairs, and at sight of it that gentleman gave vent to a low, amused
laugh.
"Don't worry, Captain," he said, softly. "Keep quiet and don't get
disturbed about it. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know, and I've
an idea that this one has a touch of gold in it."
He said no more, and the two went from room to room, through bedroom and
bathroom, nursery and servants' quarters, until at last Cleek expressed
himself satisfied, and consented to join Colonel Digby in the library.
They found him engaged in looking over the letters which were to go by
that night's post.
"Not a very big 'bag' this evening," he said, smiling up into his son's
pale face. "We confine ourselves mostly to postcards--they're easier to
censor."
"Can't put much on them certainly, especially the picture ones,"
remarked Cleek with some amusement. "That's a pretty thing you've got in
your hand there, Colonel. The celebrated shrine, isn't it?"
"Yes." Colonel Digby handed it across with a kindly smile. "Another of
poor little Miss Smith's attempts. She's always painting the thing, and
I should think the little brother to whom she sends them must know it
off by heart. He's a cripple, I believe, and very much devoted to his
sister. Anyhow, she sends him dozens of these cards. Nothing from you
to-night, Kenneth?"
"No, Dad. I haven't felt up to writing," responded the Captain,
gloomily.
Meanwhile, Cleek's eyes were dwelling upon the crudely painted little
picture of the shrine. It was finished with a conventional hexagonal
border, obviously imitated from some old illuminated missal.
Suddenly he turned about and ejaculated with some show of excitement: "I
must be right. The Benzene Ring, of course. I might have known. Only
give me till to-morrow at three o'clock, Colonel, and if I'm right your
son's honour is as safe as the Bank of England. I'll be off at once.
I'll take the motor which carries the postbag, if you don't mind.
There's no use in wasting fuel these days. Three o'clock to-morrow will
find me back again, never fear. Until then, good-night."
He caught up his hat from the table where it had lain since he entered
the house, dashed to the door, flashed it open, and was gone in the
twinkling of an eyelash. But he left the dawn of hope behind.
* * * * *
If punctuality is the virtue which the world paints it, then Lieutenant
Deland was clearly not gifted with that quality, for on the afternoon of
the next day the clock on the mantel in the Colonel's library had long
ago struck three and was creeping steadily on in the direction of four,
and still the lieutenant had not as yet appeared.
The Colonel's usually grave face was grim, and the light of that sudden
hope which had made the night so sweet was slowly but gradually dying
out of his eyes. His son could not rest a moment, and seemed unable to
do anything but pace up and down the long room. Of a sudden came the
sound of wheels on the gravel of the drive beneath their window. Both
men looked eagerly toward the doorway, where there soon appeared a
servant with the announcement that they were needed in the drawing-room.
"Thank God!" said young Digby with a sigh of relief. "The beggar's come
at last, has he? All right, Blake, we're coming along at once."
But their hopes were doomed to disappointment for it was not the dapper
lieutenant who awaited them, but Mr. Narkom, beaming genially upon them
from the chair where he was seated near Mrs. Digby.
"I am sorry you've been kept waiting," he said as he shook hands. "It's
all the fault of that idiot Deland. He couldn't make head or tail of the
business so I took him off and put a new man on to the job--Mr. George
Headland. I expect him down by the next train, and I thought if I could
wait here----"
"Why, of course, Mr. Narkom," was the reply. "I didn't expect he would
or could discover any solution; it's beyond everybody----"
"We'll give you some tea, Mr. Narkom," gushed Mrs. Digby. "Perhaps your
new man will be as amusing as the lieutenant--such a nice boy."
So that was how, when at 4:30 the door opened to admit another arrival,
Miss Smith, the children, and all the family were gathered around the
tea table. It was, however, Lieutenant Deland who appeared and not the
successor the Superintendent had announced.
"Headland couldn't come, Mr. Narkom, so I thought I'd come down and tell
you that I was right," that gentleman remarked, casually.
"Good," exclaimed the Superintendent, his face beaming with excitement.
"And did you bring the warrant with you?"
"Yes, I----"
"Warrant?" The word was echoed from various pairs of lips, in varying
tones of surprise.
"Yes, my friends, the warrant. A traitor in a family is not a pleasant
thought," said Cleek in clear, ringing tones, at the sound of which the
Colonel and his son started in amazement. "What's that? No, Mr. Wertz,
leave that door alone, no one goes out from here now--not even the
kiddies. They must put up with it; we can't afford any risks. Perhaps
Miss Smith would not mind giving them these pictures to look at to
divert their attention."
"Certainly, sir." The timid little black-robed figure advanced, while
Cleek gave a watchful glance toward the corner where Mr. Max Brunel was
watching him as if fascinated.
"That's right," he said, producing a big package of pictures, adding
laughingly, "you'll want both hands." As she extended them he snapped
out: "And so shall I, Fraulein Schmidt. Quick, Narkom, the handcuffs--in
my pocket. No, you don't, you she-cat. I've got you. Never again will
you betray the country that has shielded and paid you. No more painted
picture postcards. You see, I smelt the trick--and smelt the gas, too."
Not without considerable difficulty and more than considerable noise Mr.
Narkom and his ally overcame the struggling little figure, and before
the children had realized what had happened, their governess was
escorted from the room by two stalwart policemen. Then they themselves
were hustled from the room, as dazed at the occurrence as their elders.
"Sorry to seem to accuse you, Mr. Wertz," said Cleek. "But I was afraid
she would recognize Hamilton Cleek even as I recognized her. Then the
fat would have been in the fire with a vengeance!"
"Cleek!" came in varying tones of amazement from the group around him.
"_Cleek!_"
"Yes--just Cleek of Scotland Yard. And perhaps it was as well that I
came when I did, for Captain Kenneth might not have awakened from the
next sleep he took, and---- What's that, Colonel? An explanation? Oh,
certainly. That's very simple.
"In the first place, I discovered that your laboratory was, as you had
said, absolutely proof against all outside observation. Clearly, also,
there was only one means of entry and that by the simple method of the
door. Here I must admit I was puzzled for a while, until I heard through
your son of the nitrous oxide and found a strand of blonde hair caught
in that Bunsen burner. That explained everything--your headache,
Captain, and the second visit of which you knew nothing. Your
tooth-pulling operation gave my lady her chance. Probably she had been
provided with tubes of that gas, for all her painting tubes smelt of it.
Anyhow, I take it that she secured your tube while pretending to faint.
After she had succeeded in sending you to sleep, she dressed herself in
your clothes, and went downstairs--it was easy enough in the dim light."
"What's that? She spoke to Marshall, you say? Oh, yes, I remember that
quite clearly. But you must remember that I recognized Elsa Schmidt from
the first, and knew her to be a male impersonator of no mean order. She
used to be a shining star among the Apaches of Montmartre--but that's
another story. Anyhow, having secured the formula, she burnt it
and----"
"Burnt it?" exclaimed Captain Digby.
"Yes, burnt it. The ashes were beside the Bunsen burner as you will see
for yourself next time you enter the laboratory. Then all she had to do
was to come back and send a picture postcard to her brother Johann, one
of the cleverest spies in Europe. By the way, Colonel, he is no more a
cripple than I am!"
Everyone in the room by this time was looking at Cleek in utter
amazement.
"Picture postcards you said, Mr. Cleek?" broke in the Colonel, suddenly.
"Not those silly little painted things with the fancy borders?"
"The very same. And each time they passed through your hands for the
postbag, your son's formula passed, too. But that was not your fault. It
was simply a matter of that conventional border she was so fond of
painting. Look at this one." He drew one from his pocket. "Evidently in
this formula you used a combination of that mobile and highly
inflammable liquid known as benzene chemically expressed as C6 H6. Now
give a glance at this postcard. You will see that it is bordered with
multiples of that Benzene Ring, and the dot and dash message underneath
gives the exact proportions. All that the lady had to do was to paint a
different border round her picture of that shrine and the thing was
done.
"What's that, Mr. Narkom? How did I guess? Well, first of all, her face
seemed familiar--though her hair had taken upon itself another colour.
However, the strand of gold-dyed hair told me the truth of my
suspicions. Secondly, when the children showed me the large quantity and
size of these painting tubes, and when I saw the card when the Colonel
put it into the postbag yesterday--well, I simply used my brains, and
the rest was easy."
He stopped speaking for a moment and smiled into young Digby's face,
stretching out his hand.
"Well," he resumed, "here's luck to your next formula, Captain. And at
the same time, here's luck to London as well. For we shan't be having
any more of our parks destroyed and our kiddies mutilated for the
pride of a lustful nation. Johann was clever enough with his
experiments--though God alone knows to what a pitch he might have
carried them. But I happened to be up on the outer edge of Totting
Common when the centre of it blew up yesterday, with hardly a puff of
smoke, either. But when it comes to using innocent human life as an
_experiment_--_well_, it's beyond the conception of the average man!...
Mr. Narkom, whenever you're ready we'll be making tracks. I've an
appointment this evening and I'm afraid I shall miss it if we don't
hurry. Good-bye, Mrs. Digby. Good-bye, Colonel--and you, too, Captain.
Good-bye, all of you."
His hand went out and clasped each hand extended toward him. As Max
Brunel's hand met his, he paused a moment.
"If you take my advice, my friend," he said, softly, "you'll never let
young Kenneth know of your suspicions of him. I saw it all. I knew, even
though you would have shielded him with your own life. But friendship
and suspicion can never be in union. Take it from one who knows."