The car had made the circuit of the Park twice when, turning again by Marble Arch, he saw Crewe standing on the sidewalk. A word to his chauffeur, and the machine drew up.
"Come in," he said curtly, and the other obeyed.
The hand that he lifted to take his cigarette from his lips trembled, and the colonel eyed him with quiet amusement.
"They've got you rattled too, have they?" he said.
"My God! It's awful!" said Crewe. "Awful!"
"What's awful about it?" asked the colonel. "White's dead, ain't he? And Raoul's dead, ain't he? Two men who might talk and give a lot of trouble."
"What did he say before he died? That's what I've been thinking. What did he say?"
"Who? Raoul?" demanded the colonel. He had asked himself the same question before. "What could he say? Anyway, if he had a statement to make, and his statement was worth taking, why, he'd be alive to-day! Raoul was the one witness that they wanted, if they only knew it. They've bungled pretty badly, whoever they are."
"This Jack o' Judgment," quavered Crewe, his mouth working. "Who is he? What is he?"
"How do I know?" snarled the colonel. "You ask me these fool questions—do you expect a reply? They're dead, and that's done with. I'd sooner he killed Raoul than made a mess of my room, anyway!"