Here was another surprise, but Jack did not express it in words. He merely nodded, as if he took the whole thing for granted.
"We will let that pass," he said. "But why did Anstruther desire to have you put out of the way like that?"
"Well, it was either Anstruther or myself," the stranger said coolly. "To give you some idea of the feelings I entertain towards Anstruther, I will ask you to kindly look at that craotint over the mantelpiece. You may not believe it, but that picture represents me before I came under the baneful influence of the man we are discussing. Will you please look at it carefully?"
It was barely possible to recognize in those handsome features the almost repulsive ugliness of Nostalgo. Perhaps he read something of this passing through Jack's mind, for he smiled with exceeding bitterness.
"Yes, I don't think I need much justification. You know all about that business in Mexico, but Lord Barmouth was not the only victim. I also was left penniless and mutilated, and I swore that if ever fortune favored me, I would be even with Anstruther before I died. Fortune has favored me, and I am here with one set purpose before me."
"To kill Spencer Anstruther," Jack cried.
"Oh, dear, no," Nostalgo said; "do you suppose that I can think of no more terrible revenge than that? When you saw me holding that scoundrel to-night I had quite another purpose in my mind. If everything had gone well with me, London would have been startled to-morrow to hear of the strange disappearance of Spencer Anstruther. But you were good enough to prevent me, and I cannot blame you for that. But I am talking about myself, though you would like to hear more of other matters. I promised to tell you how I got away from Shannon Street police station. I expect my case puzzled the doctor, did it not?"
"You puzzled him exceedingly," Jack said. "How did you manage it?"
"I was shot in a peculiar manner, and with a peculiar weapon," Nostalgo explained. "The whole device was an invention of Anstruther's--in fact, I saw it in operation in Mexico. It is a kind of air gun arrangement that propels a sort of poisoned bullet encased in celluloid. The bullet penetrates a part not necessarily vital and dissolves there. There is practically no wound, the virulent poison in the bullet spreads all over the system and speedily does its work. But in my instance the shots fired were not fatal, for the simple reason that I am wearing a thin coat of highly-tempered chain mail."
"But the doctor did not notice that," Jack exclaimed.