Peter decided that he could not have recovered from the blow on his head so completely as he had thought. "How did we get here?" he repeated. "That won't quite do, Master Monk! I don't know what your little game is, but…'
Strange said impatiently: "I'm not the Monk. Oh, I know I'm togged up in the same disguise, but you can't really think I'm he!"
Margaret leaned forward eagerly. "You're not? Oh, I said you couldn't be!"
His eyes softened. "You believe me, Miss Fortescue? Without proof? In spite of appearances?"
She nodded. "If you tell me so," she said quite simply.
It seemed as though he was going to take her hand, but he did not. He said only: "Thank you." Then he turned to Peter. "I told you you'd get yourself into a mess if you didn't stop poking your nose into my affairs," he remarked cheerfully. "I'm not the Monk, and my name isn't Strange. I'm Inspector Draycott, of the C.I.D." He thrust his hand into the front of his robe. "I've got a card somewhere, in case you still don't believe me."
"Draycott!" Peter said. "You don't mean you're the man who handled that big case against Williams last year?"
"I did, yes. Who told you? Malcolm? I was always afraid he might spot me."
"I don't think he ever saw you till we came down here," Peter said, feeling rather limp. "Then are you after the Monk?"
"Of course. I've been after him for months."