“Listen, you fellows!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Francis Ledsam, the great criminal barrister, is going to solve the mystery of poor old Victor's death for us!”
The three other young men all turned around from the bar. Their eyes and whole attention seemed rivetted upon Francis. No one seemed to notice the newcomer who passed quietly to a chair in the background, although he was a person of some note and interest to all of them. Imperturbable and immaculate as ever, Sir Timothy Brast smiled amiably upon the little gathering, summoned a waiter and ordered a Dry Martini.
“I can scarcely promise to do that,” Francis said slowly, his eyes resting for a second or two upon each of the four faces. “Exact solutions are a little out of my line. I think I can promise to give you a shock, though, if you're strong enough to stand it.”
There was another of those curiously charged silences. The bartender paused with the cocktail shaker still in his hand. Voss began to beat nervously upon the counter with his knuckles.
“We can stand anything but suspense,” he declared. “Get on with your shock-giving.”
“I believe that the person responsible for the death of Victor Bidlake is in this room at the present moment,” Francis declared.
Again the silence, curious, tense and dramatic. Little Jimmy, the bartender, who had leaned forward to listen, stood with his mouth slightly open and the cocktail-shaker which was in his hand leaked drops upon the counter. The first conscious impulse of everybody seemed to be to glance suspiciously around the room. The four young men at the bar, Jimmy and one waiter, Francis and Sir Timothy Brast, were its only occupants.
“I say, you know, that's a bit thick, isn't it?” Sidney Voss stammered at last. “I wasn't in the place at all, I was in Manchester, but it's a bit rough on these other chaps, Victor's pals.”
“I was dining at the Cafe Royal,” Jacks declared, loudly.
Morse drew a little breath.