“Why did you do that?”
“I knew you were wondering if I might not be Povy. I intended to convince you otherwise.”
“You might have succeeded save for one thing.”
“Yes, my scar betrayed me. My make-up was not as clever as I thought. Even so, I should have escaped, had you not lived such a charmed life. And you are very handy at opening locked doors.”
“There’s one thing I would like to know,” said Flash. “How did you manage to give out the impression that Albert Povy had been killed in the train wreck?”
“I don’t mind telling you—not in the least. It was very simple. While on the train I fell into conversation with a man who chanced to mention that he had entered this country recently and had no relatives or friends living here.”
“The man was killed in the wreck?” prompted Major Hartgrove.
“He was. I merely transferred my own identification papers to his pockets. Then, later, I claimed the body and had it buried in the Clear Lake cemetery.”
“You thought that with Albert Povy dead, the government would drop its case against him,” commented the Major. “Then as Herbert Rascomb you would be free to continue your espionage work.”
“Oh, no, Major,” the prisoner corrected. “This was to have been my last deal. I am not as young as I once was and excitement palls upon one. I had planned to retire to Mexico and live a quiet, respectable existence.”