"It is," he replied determinedly. "If you must act as a fool, then I
can't assist you further. Good night!" And he sat down and busied
himself with his accumulated correspondence.
I now realised that he was utterly defiant, and thoughts of my loss of
Mabel caused my blood to boil within me. His light, careless manner
irritated me beyond measure.
"Very well," I cried. "Good night, Mr. Kirk!" And turning swiftly upon
my heel, I left the room and found my way down the great staircase and
out into Whitehall.
Too late at that hour to call at New Scotland Yard, close by, I hailed a
hansom and drove straight home, almost beside myself with rage at the
calm, unruffled, defiant attitude with which the adventurer had met me.
Next morning, after writing some letters, I went round to the garage,
where I found Pelham, somewhat excited.
"This morning, when I arrived at eight o'clock," he said. "I found
awaiting me a rather shabbily-dressed old man who said he wanted to see
an Eckhardt tyre. Recollecting my previous experiences of people who've
come in to handle them, I told him that if he wished to buy one I could
sell him one, but I hadn't time to waste on sightseers. Whereupon the
old fellow promptly paid for a cover before seeing it, and took it away
on a cab which he had waiting."
"Well?" I asked, rather, surprised. "And who was he?"
"That's the curious point. He was an old chap I've seen about the
neighbourhood many times--thin, rather shabby and disreputable, grey
hair and moustache--lives in your road, I think. Drake says you know
him."
"Kershaw Kirk!" I gasped.
"Yes; that's the name Drake said before he went out with the `sixty,'"
replied my manager.
"What does he want with a tyre when he hasn't got a car?"
I stood in silence. What, indeed, did that man want with one of the new
tyres? Had he merely come down there to have further words with me, or
did he require a cover for some specific purpose?
My mind, however, was made up. I had resolved to go to New Scotland
Yard, and, even though tardily, to place the whole of the facts before
the Criminal Investigation Department. Therefore I got out the
"forty-eight" and drove along the Hammersmith Road and Knightsbridge,
across St. James's Park, and through Storey's Gate to Whitehall. I
alighted in the big courtyard of the police headquarters, where a number
of motor-'buses were drawn up for inspection, and entered the large
stone hall, when a constable came forward to inquire my business.
I handed him my card, explaining that I wished to see one of the
detective inspectors upon a confidential matter, and was shown upstairs
and along a wide corridor to a bare waiting-room.
For some ten minutes I remained there, when the door opened, and I found
myself face to face with a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man, who was one
of the most noted and experienced officers of the department.
For a moment I held my breath. I recollected all the threats that had
been made of Mabel's peril if I dared to speak the truth.
The detective-inspector closed the door behind him, and, wishing me a
polite "Good morning," inquired my business.
I told him. Yes; I blurted forth the truth, and made a clean breast of
the whole matter.
But the instant I had done so I bitterly repented it.