For a second their eyes met, the clear blue and the faded blue.
“Yes—I am the Assistant Director of Prosecutions,” said Gordon quietly. “And I have an idea that you and I have met before.”
The pale eyes did not waver. John Bennett’s face was a mask.
“Not professionally, I hope,” he said, and there was a challenge in his voice.
Dick laughed again as at the absurdity of the question.
“Not professionally,” he said with mock gravity.
On his way back to London that night his memory worked overtime, but he failed to place John Bennett of Horsham.
CHAPTER II
A TALK ABOUT FROGS
MAITLANDS Consolidated had grown from one small office to its present palatial proportions in a comparatively short space of time. Maitland was a man advanced in years, patriarchal in appearance, sparing of speech. He had arrived in London unheralded, and had arrived, in the less accurate sense of the word, before London was aware of his existence.