“You’ll find prison a quiet place,” Major Hartgrove said dryly.
“Undoubtedly. I trust you’ll visit me sometime so that we may chat about old times? You really proved yourself very stupid, Major.”
“Kindly hand over the plans to Bailey Brooks’ invention,” Major Hartgrove ordered testily. “It will save a disagreeable search.”
“Anything to oblige.”
Rascomb drew a fat packet of papers from his pocket and dropped it into the Major’s hand.
“One request,” he said. “My man, Fleur, knew nothing of my real past. Attorney Gordon also is blameless. I trust you will not try to involve them. Now gentlemen, is there anything else you wish to know?”
“You had nothing to do with the train wreck?” Flash inquired after a moment.
“No, I merely profited by it. For years I have been building up the respectable character of Rascomb. I knew that I was being closely watched by the Department of Justice. So when the chance came for Povy’s fade-out, I took it.”
Both Rascomb and Fleur were loaded into the car and driven back to Excelsior City, where the latter was taken to the prison hospital for emergency treatment. Flash was greatly relieved to learn that the caretaker had not been seriously injured in the crash and would recover.
“Now to round up the remaining members of Rascomb’s ring,” Major Hartgrove said briskly. “It may take us weeks, but eventually we’ll get every man who ever worked with him.”