Poltavo handed over a sealed packet, receiving in exchange the messenger's.
Again Poltavo shot a smiling glance at this sturdy old man. Save for the beard and the grey hair which showed beneath the broad-brimmed, wide-awake hat, this might have been a young man.
"This is an historic meeting," Poltavo went on gaily. His heart was light and his spirits as buoyant as ever they had been in his life. All the prospects which this envelope, now bulging in his pocket, promised, rose vividly before his eyes.
"Tell me your name, my old friend, that I may carry it with me, and on some occasion which is not yet, that I may toast your health."
"My name," said the old man, "is T. B. Smith, and I shall take you into custody on a charge of attempting to extort money by blackmail."
Poltavo sprang back, his face ashen. One hand dived for his pistol-pocket, but before he could reach it T. B. was at his throat. That moment the Pole felt two arms gripping him, two steel bands they seemed, and likely to crush his arms into his very body. Then he went over with the full weight of the detective upon him, and was momentarily stunned by the shock. He came to himself rapidly, but not quickly enough. He was conscious of something cold about his wrists, and a none too kindly hand dragged him to his feet. T. B. with his white beard all awry was a comical figure, but Poltavo had no sense of humour at that moment.
"I think I have you at last, my friend," said T. B. pleasantly. He was busy removing his disguise and wiping his face clean of the grease paint, which had been necessary, with a handkerchief which was already grimy with his exertions.
"You will have some difficulty in proving anything against me," said the other defiantly; "there is only you and I, and my word is as good as yours. As to the Duke of Ambury——"
T. B. laughed, a long chuckling laugh of delight.