“Where is your brother?”
The Soudanese shook his head.
“In the native village?”
“Yes, sah.”
“Go and fetch him,” ordered Carpentaria.
And the next moment he was alone in the great chamber, and he felt tempted simply to go to the regular police, of whom a few were constantly employed by the City, and tell them what had happened, and leave the whole affair entirely in their hands. And then the strange attraction which always emanates from a mystery appealed to him so strongly that he determined to probe a little further into the peculiar matter of Ilam’s disappearance, without the aid of professional detectives. He didn’t imagine for an instant that Ilam was dead. He was capable of believing that Ilam had disappeared willingly; and yet such a theory, having regard to the recitals of Mr. Gloucester and of the bank-clerk (by this time doubtless on his way to Weybridge, and the young thing) was to say the least exceedingly improbable.
He unlocked the door and went outside. Wiggins was at his post, actuated by the exaggerated alertness which characterizes one who has been caught napping.
“Anything happened, Wiggins?”
“No, sir. Nothing whatever.”
“I shall return soon. If the Soudanese comes, keep him.”