"Since that time it has been reported to the authorities at Mombasa that you inflicted the wound, later getting away in the crowd. It is also known that you benefited largely by his death, since by his will you were given ownership of the yacht Daphne. Yesterday, you visited Mombasa, getting away—er—secretly before you could be apprehended."
"See here, Mr. Smith," exclaimed Hammer earnestly, "this charge is absolutely absurd. Not only was Mr. Harcourt my best friend, but I was ill and unconscious at the time——"
"Just a moment—I overlooked that scar on your forehead," broke in the commissioner, looking up from his papers. Hammer put up a hand to the scar which had resulted from the fight aboard the launch, "Yes, that is it. These papers state that—er—it is the result of a blow struck you by Mr. Harcourt as you stabbed him."
"Confound it all," exclaimed the enraged American, "who's bringing all these charges, anyway? Dr. Krausz?"
For answer the commissioner glanced at his police officer.
"You detained those fellows, lieutenant?"
"I did, sir, against their protest."
"Damn their protest, my dear chap! Bring 'em in. Since you persist in going through with this ruddy mess, Hammer, I'll give you all you want of it."
The American asked nothing better, and began to think that the commissioner was not so bad after all, having probably been prejudiced against him from the start. The police officer, with his sergeant and two men, left the room, Hammer watching the door eagerly for their return.
Who were these unknown persons? Whoever they were, he reflected, they had done their work well. The devilish ingenuity of it all was amazing, and as Hammer never doubted that Krausz was behind the thing, he began to score up an ugly debt against the scientist.