"For an expert, Manning," I said, "you take a long time about
committing a murder."
He laughed easily. "I am sorry to keep you waiting," he replied.
"It won't be very long--I can assure you of that--but there are just
one or two little bits of information which I should like to give you
first." He came a step closer. "I don't often take people into my
confidence, but, you see, in your case I can afford to make an
exception. Dead men are notoriously reticent."
I realised that every moment he indulged in the luxury of trying to
torment me the more slender became his chances of escape.
"Go ahead, doctor," I said cheerfully. "Your conversation is always
stimulating."
Provoking as my attitude must have been, he managed to control
himself admirably.
"In the first place," he began, "it may amuse you to learn that the
letter which brought you blundering out of the house in that
singularly convenient fashion was written by myself."
Incredible as his statement seemed, something told me that he was
speaking the truth.
"I congratulate you," I said coolly. "I knew you were a murderer and
a thief, but I had no idea that you were an accomplished forger as
well."
"You flatter me," he replied. "As a matter of fact it was a very
hurried and rather clumsy piece of work. Any intelligent person
would probably have seen through it at once." He pulled out an
envelope from his pocket and held it up mockingly in front of me.
"This is the touching and affectionate original," he added. "It was
given to Marie by Christine, and, like a good servant, the old lady
promptly handed it on to me. Very trustworthy domestics the French,
Dryden."
For a moment I made no answer. The sight of Christine's letter in
that brute's hands sent such a fresh wave of anger surging through me
that I was afraid I should be unable to control my voice.
"I won't read it to you," he continued. "You might find it
upsetting, and I should like your last moments to be really peaceful
and happy." He paused. "Besides, you would probably be more
interested to hear about my own future arrangements, especially as,
to a rather important extent, they involve those of Miss de Roda."
He put the letter back into his pocket, and once more surveyed me
with the same Satanic enjoyment.
"I have been fortunate enough to get hold of a really nice little
ocean-going steam yacht, Dryden. At the present moment she is lying
in the harbour at Rotterdam, and by to-morrow night we hope to be
well on our way to the South Seas."
He glanced round again carelessly at de Roda, who was still
scrabbling amongst the treasure, apparently blind and deaf to our
presence.
"For Christine and myself," he continued softly, "the voyage will be
full of romance. It will be our honeymoon, Dryden; a rather
unwilling one on her part, perhaps, but none the less enjoyable for
that."