"Here is absolute proof. There were two in it here—Adrian Fellowes and Krool."
"Adrian Fellowes!"
It was Ian Stafford's voice, insistent and inquiring.
"Here is the proof, as I say." Barry Whalen leaned forward and pushed a paper over on the table, to which were attached two or three smaller papers and some cablegrams. "Look at them. Take a good look at them and see how we've been done—done brown. The hand that dipped in the same dish, as it were, has handed out misfortune to us by the bucketful. We've been carted in the house of a friend."
The group, all standing, leaned over, as Barry Whalen showed them the papers, one by one, then passed them round for examination.
"It's deadly," said Fleming. "Men have had their throats cut or been hanged for less. I wouldn't mind a hand in it myself."
"We warned Byng years ago," interposed Barry, "but it was no use. And we've paid for it par and premium."
"What can be done to Krool?" asked Fleming.
"Nothing particular—here," said Barry Whalen, ominously.
"Let's have the dog in," urged one of the group.