“Have you brought me from Berlin to ask me that?” he demanded bitterly. “Have you taken me from my favourite café on Unter den Linden—by the way, the Germans are making small arm ammunition by the million at a converted pencil factory in Bavaria—to discuss Elmer? He’s a clerk, isn’t he?”
Major Staines nodded.
“He was,” he said, “in the Accountancy Department. He disappeared from view three weeks ago, and an examination of his books showed that he had been systematically stealing funds which were under his control.”
Mike Brixan made a little face.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “He seemed to be a fairly quiet and inoffensive man. But surely you don’t want me to go after him? That is a job for Scotland Yard.”
“I don’t want you to go after him,” said Staines slowly, “because—well, he has been found.”
There was something very significant and sinister in his tone, and before he could take the little slip of paper from the portfolio on the desk, Michael Brixan knew what was coming.
“Not the Head-Hunter?” he gasped. Even Michael knew about the Head-Hunter.
Staines nodded.
“Here’s the note.”