“I’ll come to you,” said Michael. “There are one or two things I want to know about the man, and it will create less of a fuss than if I have to admit you to the hotel.”
Jack Knebworth rented a house on the Arundel Road, and he was waiting at the garden door to admit his visitor when Michael arrived.
Michael told the story of the discovery of the head, and felt that he might so far take the director into his confidence as to retail his visit to Sir Gregory Penne.
“That beats everything,” said Jack in a hushed tone. “Poor old Foss! You think that Penne did this? But why? You don’t cut up a man because he wants to borrow money.”
“My views have been switching round a little,” said Michael. “You remember a sheet of manuscript that was found amongst some of your script, and which I told you must have been written by the Head-Hunter?”
Jack nodded.
“I’m perfectly sure,” Michael went on, “and particularly after seeing the erasure in the scenario book, that Foss knew who was the author of that manuscript, and I’m equally certain that he resolved upon the desperate expedient of blackmailing the writer. If that is the case, and if Sir Gregory is the man—again I am very uncertain on this point—there is a good reason why he should be put out of the way. There is one person who can help us, and that is——”
“Mendoza,” said Jack, and the two men’s eyes met.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE HAND
Jack looked at his watch.