“Well, it's like this, sir,” said Mrs. Cassley, leaning forward confidentially and speaking in the hollow tone which she had decided should accompany any revelation to a police officer, “this young lady said to me, 'If I don't come any night by 8 o'clock you must go to T. X. and tell him—'!”
She paused dramatically.
“Yes, yes,” said T. X. quickly, “for heaven's sake go on, woman.”
“'Tell him,'” said Mrs. Cassley, “'that Belinda Mary—'”
He sprang to his feet.
“Belinda Mary!” he breathed, “Belinda Mary!” In a flash he saw it all. This girl with a knowledge of modern Greek, who was working in Kara's house, was there for a purpose. Kara had something of her mother's, something that was vital and which he would not part with, and she had adopted this method of securing that some thing. Mrs. Cassley was prattling on, but her voice was merely a haze of sound to him. It brought a strange glow to his heart that Belinda Mary should have thought of him.
“Only as a policeman, of course,” said the still, small voice of his official self. “Perhaps!” said the human T. X., defiantly.
He got on the telephone to Mansus and gave a few instructions.
“You stay here,” he ordered the astounded Mrs. Cassley; “I am going to make a few investigations.”
Kara was at home, but was in bed. T. X. remembered that this extraordinary man invariably went to bed early and that it was his practice to receive visitors in this guarded room of his. He was admitted almost at once and found Kara in his silk dressing-gown lying on the bed smoking. The heat of the room was unbearable even on that bleak February night.