“Rather rotten situation in Europe,” I commented conversationally.
“Hmm,” Sencort grunted, chewing his cigar, with as little interest in my reactions on the European trouble as in my warning to him. He gave me the impression that, having read about my performance with those counterfeit plates, he was willing to refresh his memory upon the sort of citizen who did that sort of thing.
His girl reentered and reported, “Mr. Teverson is here with Lord Strathon and M. Géroud, sir.”
Sencort nodded. “Heard from Reed?”
“He’s outside, sir.”
“Send him in.”
Reed proved to be a tall, keen-looking chap, evidently alert and undoubtedly dependable. He was one of the bank detectives, not in uniform.
“We’ve gone over the whole room again, sir; and also the rooms adjoining. Everything is in order,” he reported.
“Particularly the pipes?” Sencort asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with the pipes, sir.”