“But I don’t understand——”
“Of course you don’t. Neither do I. There’s a lot we have got to find out. But two heads are better than one; and you just put a big bundle of trust in mine.”
He was excited and his brogue, Grey thought, was delightful.
“What do you suggest?”
“In the first place it is probably best that I tell you what little I know. Your memory, up until this afternoon, is a blank. Well, then, I’ll give you the benefit of mine.”
O’Hara lighted another cigarette and, taking a deep inhalation, started pacing the floor, his head bent thoughtfully forward.
“As I said,” he began, “we met in the smoke-room of the Lucania on the afternoon of Saturday, the seventh of April. You told me your name was Max Arndt, that you were born in Kürschdorf, the capital of Budavia, where your uncle, Herr Schlippenbach, whom you accompanied, had at one time been tutor in the royal family. You had spent your life, however, in the United States, had been engaged in the importation of German wines, I think you said, in New York, and were now on your way back to your native town, where, by the death of a relation, you had recently come into large estates. The man Lutz was with you, but he appeared to be old Schlippenbach’s valet rather than yours. On reaching Liverpool you were met by Captain Lindenwald, who is of the royal household of the Kingdom of Budavia, and by the fellow Johann. After about a week in London your party was joined by Miss von Altdorf, who had been at school somewhere in Kent. You told me she was your sister’s child, an orphan, and that your uncle and yourself supported her.”
“Great God!” exclaimed Grey, amazedly, “and did I seem sane—rational?”
“Perfectly,” O’Hara answered; “you were the character to the smallest detail. Your voice was the only peculiar thing about you. You spoke like a deaf man, with practically no inflection.”
“Did you talk to Schlippenbach?”