Still he said nothing; just looked at me with those foxy little eyes that I was coming to detest. At last he spoke sharply:
“Just how,” he demanded, “did you happen to discover those messages? You were not in this room last night after I left?” He turned angrily to the constable. “I gave orders—”
“No,” I put in; “I was not in this room. I happened to have on file in my rooms copies of the Mail, and by the merest chance—”
I saw that I had blundered. Undoubtedly my discovery of those messages was too pat. Once again suspicion looked my way.
“Thank you very much,” said Bray. “I’ll keep this in mind.”
“Have you communicated with my friend at the consulate?” I asked.
“Yes. That’s all. Good morning.”
So I went.
I had been back in my room some twenty minutes when there came a knock on the door, and Colonel Hughes entered. He was a genial man, in the early forties I should say, tanned by some sun not English, and gray at the temples.
“My dear sir,” he said without preamble, “this is a most appalling business!”