“Good-morning, Sir Harold,” he said. “I must thank you for remaining in London at my request, as your presence will very much simplify matters.”
“What news?” demanded Annesley.
“I have traced the person who wrote the threatening letter to Lady Annesley, and require further instructions from you.”
“Go on.” Sir Harold endeavored to be calm, but his muscles twitched nervously.
“Must I take steps to make an arrest?”
“Certainly. I mean to make an example of these people. Mr. Asbury, allow me to congratulate you upon your success.”
The detective looked away for a moment, then he said:
“Before you become too enthusiastic, Sir Harold, I wish you to listen to a few particulars. From the very first I had no belief in the story of the vendetta, save in the imagination of Mr. Hamilton. We have investigated dozens of such stories, and discovered them to be mere bubbles. Upon leaving you yesterday I telegraphed for particulars of Lambert Egerton, Count Crispi, and Theresa Ludovic to no less than four reliable agents stationed in Italy. The replies satisfy me that the relatives of Count Crispi made a few threats when the surgeon, Lambert Egerton, ran away with the ward of his illustrious client. There the matter ended, save in the imagination of Egerton himself.”
Annesley shook his head impatiently.
“But the man who was stabbed in the streets of London—the man who resembled Egerton?” he asked.