A moment later, he checked his furious outburst and replied quickly to many of the interrogations put to him through the interpreter.
It was soon evident, however, that he was either extremely ignorant of many matters or else was an accomplished liar, and, while the information he gave cleared up many matters which had puzzled Mr. Henderson previously, still the most important and mysterious features of the whole case remained as much a mystery as ever.
“I guess that’s all we can find out, or all he’ll tell,” declared Mr. Henderson at last. “Take him away and be mighty careful to have him well guarded. He’s a slippery rascal and we don’t want him getting away this time.”
As the men with their prisoner left the room, Ivan rose as if to go.
“Sit down!” Mr. Henderson ordered him. “I
may need you again at any minute. We’ve got another man to question yet.”
Ivan’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he had long been employed as an interpreter in Mr. Pauling’s service and had learned not to ask questions or make comments, no matter how amazing or perplexing a matter might appear. So, again seating himself comfortably, he lit another of his huge cigars and waited patiently and silently for further orders.
Meanwhile Mr. Henderson was going over his hastily written statements of the prisoner and with his knowledge of the man’s past and his “hunch” was striving to dovetail the information with surmises and records so as to form a complete whole.
It was interesting and fascinating work—this building up a case from fragments and conjectures—a sort of jig-saw puzzle with many of the parts missing, and Mr. Henderson was an adept at it. Indeed, he often spent hours, when he had time to spare, playing the game with imaginary or hypothetical cases exactly as a person will play a game of solitaire. It was this ability to piece together stray bits of evidence, and his almost uncanny
intuition, that had secured the high position he held and had won the envy and admiration of all in the Service who knew him, although his friends good-naturedly chaffed him about his “imagination,” as they called it.