“Green Street, Mayfair,” said the Sergeant. “Clubs, Boodle's and the Cavalry.”
Hannasyde glanced at his watch. “If he's in town I may catch him at his house, then,” he said, and got up, and reached for his hat and for the copy of the newspaper.
The General was in town, but an austere butler, looking down his nose at Superintendent Hannasyde, said frigidly that the General was still at his breakfast. Hannasyde expressed his willingness to await the General's pleasure, and sent in his card. He was ushered into a room at the back of the house, and informed presently by the butler that the General would see him in a few minutes.
A quarter of an hour later the General, a fine-looking old man with iron-grey hair, and a beak-like nose, entered the sombre room, nodded to Hannasyde, and with a glance at the card in his hand said, in the voice of one who commanded whole armies: “Well, Superintendent? What's all this?”
“I must apologise calling on you at such an early hour, sir,” said Hannasyde, “but my attention has been drawn to a certain notice appearing in today's paper for which I understand you are responsible.”
The General looked at him somewhat glassily. “What the deuce are you talking about, my good man?” he said. “What notice in what paper?”
Hannasyde produced the paper, and pointed out the fatal entry. The General, after a very sharp glance cast at him, got out a pair of spectacles, and held them over the bridge of his nose, and peered through them at the notice of John Hyde's death. He then lowered the paper, removed the spectacles from his nose, and desired to be told what this feller (whoever he might be) had to do with him.
“I am informed, sir, that the notice was inserted by you,” replied Hannasyde.
“You are informed!” said the General. “Who informed you?”
“The office of the paper in question, sir,” said Hannasyde.