“Good-night, Mr Straithwaite,” he said, with real friendliness. “Let me give you the quaker’s advice: Don’t attempt another conspiracy—but if you do, don’t produce a ‘pair’ of gloves of which one is still suggestive of scent, and the other identifiable with eucalyptus!”
“Oh——!” said Straithwaite.
“Quite so. But at all hazard suppress a second pair that has the same peculiarity. Think over what it must mean. Good-bye.”
Twelve minutes later Mr Carlyle was called to the telephone.
“It is eight-fifty-five and I am at Charing Cross,” said a voice he knew. “If you want local colour contrive an excuse to be with Markham when the first post arrives to-morrow.” A few more words followed, and an affectionate valediction.
“One moment, my dear Max, one moment. Do I understand you to say that you will post me on the report of the case from Dover?”
“No, Louis,” replied Carrados, with cryptic discrimination. “I only said that I will post you on a report of the case from Dover.”
THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR
The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident in the joint experiences of Mr Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this: that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the private detective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safe deposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompanied him, and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly among the palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr Carlyle was occupied with his deed-box in one of the little compartments provided for the purpose.