XXII
“At what again?” asked Carver quickly.
“Mayfield,” gurgled Mr. Stott, “two men!”
“Two men have gone into Mayfield? When?”
“I don’t know how long ago I saw them. One was Brown.”
“Wellington Brown? Are you sure?”
“I heard him speak,” said the agitated Mr. Stott, “I’ll swear to it in a court of law. I was sitting on the balcony smoking a cigar, a box which a friend of mine has given to me—perhaps you know Morrison of the Morrison Gold Corporation—”
But Carver had gone back into the station with a rush, to reappear almost immediately.
He bundled Tab into a taxi and shot a direction at the driver.
“I had to go back to get our own key,” he said, “and—” he took something from his coat pocket and Tab heard the snick of an automatic jacket being pulled back. “Unless this man is suffering from delusions, we are going to see developments tonight, Tab.”