Toye himself could not have cut and measured more deliberate monosyllables.
"Craven?" suggested Scruton.
"No; a man I expected to find at Craven's."
"The writer of the letter you found at Cook's office in Naples the night you landed there, I guess!"
It really was Toye this time, and there was no guesswork in his tone. Obviously he was speaking by his little book, though he had not got it out again.
"How do you know I went to Cook's?"
"I know every step you took between the Kaiser Fritz and Charing Cross and Charing Cross and the Kaiser Fritz!"
Scruton listened to this interchange with keen attention, hanging on each man's lips with his sunken eyes; both took it calmly, but Scruton's surprise was not hidden by a sardonic grin.
"You've evidently had a stern chase with a Yankee clipper!" said he. "If he's right about the letter, Cazalet, I should say so; presumably it wasn't from Craven himself?"