The man leaned back in the chair and clasped his knees, and began in a sing-song voice, as though he were reciting something that he had learned by heart.
“We used to live in Turkey. My father was a merchant of Constantinople, and my sister, who went to school in England, got extraordinary ideas, and came back a most violent pro-Turk. She is a very pretty girl and she came to know some of the best Turkish families, although my father and I were dead against her going about with these people. One day she went to call on Hymar Pasha, and that night she didn’t come back. We went to the Pasha’s house and asked for her, but he told us she had left at four o’clock. We then consulted the police, and they told us, after they had made investigations, that she had been seen going on board a ship which left for Odessa the same night. I hadn’t seen her for ten years, until I went down to the Gringo Club, which is a little place in the East End—not high class, you understand, but very well conducted. There was a cabaret show after midnight, and whilst I was sitting there, thinking about going home—very bored, you understand, because that sort of thing doesn’t appeal to me—I saw a girl come out from behind a curtain dressed like a Turkish woman, and begin a dance. She was in the middle of the dance when her veil slipped off. It was Marie! She recognized me at once, and darted through the curtains. I tried to follow her, but they held me back.”
“Did you go to the police?” asked Manfred.
The man shook his head.
“No, what is the use of the police?” he went on in a monotonous tone. “I had enough of them in Constantinople, and I made up my mind that I would get outside help. And then somebody told me of you, and I came along. Mr. Manfred, is it impossible for you to rescue my sister? I’m perfectly sure that she is being detained forcibly and against her will.”
“At the Gringo Club?” asked Manfred.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said George. “Perhaps my friends and I will come down and take a look round some evening. In the meantime will you go back to your friend Dr. Oberzohn and tell him that you have done your part and I will do mine? Your little story will go into my collection of Unplausible Inventions!”
He touched a bell and Poiccart came in.
“Show Mr. Liggins out, please. Don’t hurt him—he may have a wife and children, though it is extremely unlikely.”