"The what?" asked the puzzled colonel.
"The mug," said Stafford. "You may not have heard the expression. It means 'can'—'fool'—'dupe.'"
The colonel drew a long breath.
"You still bear malice, I see, Mr. King," he said sadly.
He entered the portals of Scotland Yard without so much as a tremor, passed up the broad stairs and along the unlovely corridors, till he came to the double doors which marked the First Commissioner's private office. Stafford disappeared for a moment and presently returned with the news that the First Commissioner would not be able to see his visitor for half an hour. Stafford apologised but the colonel was affability itself and kept up a running conversation until a beckoning secretary notified them that the great man was disengaged.
It was King who ushered the colonel into his presence. Sir Stanley was writing at a big desk and looked up as the colonel entered.
"Sit down, colonel," he said, nodding his head to a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "You needn't wait, King. There are one or two things I want to speak to the colonel about."
When the door had closed behind the detective, Sir Stanley leaned back in his chair. Their eyes met, the grey and the faded blue, and for the space of a few seconds they stared. Sir Stanley Belcom was the first to drop his eyes.
"I've sent for you, colonel," he said, "because I think you might give me a great deal of information, if you're willing."
"Command me," said the colonel grandly.