“What?” gasped Burke.
“That the note signed by Horace Chatham was a forgery!”
With his subtle smile, George Clarendon gently urged his companion to the street. Clyde Burke stood openmouthed as the door of the cab closed.
Then, just as the taxi started up the street, a sound came from within the vehicle. It was a low, weird laugh — a laugh that was both mocking and triumphant!
Clyde Burke watched the cab as it lost itself amid the passing traffic. With eyes half-closed, he imagined that he could still see the masklike face of his mysterious employer, and through his brain reechoed the sound of that weird, sinister laugh!
CHAPTER IV. CLARENDON EXPLAINS
CLYDE BURKE was perplexed. For twenty-four hours, he had been puzzling over the strange revelation made by George Clarendon.
He had thought of it during the evening. It had occupied his mind since his first waking moment in the morning. Now, in his office, Burke still pondered, to no avail.
Clarendon’s discovery that the note signed by Horace Chatham was a forgery was singular enough. But the real cause of Burke’s bewilderment was George Clarendon, himself. The man was an enigma.
Burke realized now how little contact he had had with his benefactor. For months he had forwarded clippings to George Clarendon, yet he had no idea where the man lived.