“That was because he had no matches,” said Joan excitedly. “That bears out what he said.”
“Madam, if it would not incommode you, might I crave your permission to smoke even now?” Joan readily gave it, and the old man deftly rolled a cigarette with strong black tobacco from a battered metal case.
“Can you tell us at what time you saw him?” said Ellery.
“Ah, time. Why should I mark the hours? What need have I to know? It was evening.”
“But what you tell us is of no use unless you can say what time it was.”
“Alas, if I had but known, my watch should never have gone—the way of all watches.” A faint flicker of a smile, and an extraordinarily expressive gesture, accompanied the phrase. It was as if all watches had a mysterious knack of vanishing into infinite space. “But, nevertheless, another’s memory may serve where mine fails. For I was not alone.”
“Who was with you? Can we find him?”
“I will find him for you; but not till evening. And meantime, I will seek for those who may have seen Mr. Brooklyn in Whitehall. If any can find such a man, I can find him. There is a fraternity among us who wander under the sky. We remark what passes around us; for we have no affairs of our own to disturb our minds.” He turned to Ellery. “It would be well that you should leave the photograph with me until evening. Then we will meet again.”
An appointment was made for Trafalgar Square at eleven o’clock that same night. The old man would not meet them sooner, or elsewhere. Joan could not leave Sir Vernon at that hour; but Ellery would come. In parting, she thanked “the Spaniard” for all that he had done.
“What can a man do better than come to the aid of ladies in distress? Truly, as the poet says, ‘He enlargeth his heart who doeth his neighbour a kindness.’ The word I have rendered ‘neighbour’ is feminine in the Spanish,” he added, half to himself.