“It’s all right, Mr. Potts,” Drummond assured him over and over again. “Their gang is dispersed, and Lakington is dead. We’re all friends here now. You’re quite safe. This is Mr. Green, who has come over from New York especially to find you and take you back to your family.”
The millionaire stared in silence at the detective, who rolled his cigar round in his mouth.
“That’s right, Mr. Potts. There’s the little old sign.” He threw back his coat, showing the police badge, and the millionaire nodded. “I guess you’ve had things humming on the other side, and if it hadn’t been for the Captain here and his friends they’d be humming still.”
“I am obliged to you, sir,” said the American, speaking for the first time to Hugh. The words were slow and hesitating, as if he was not quite sure of his voice. “I seem to remember your face,” he continued, “as part of the awful nightmare I’ve suffered the last few days—or is it weeks? I seem to remember having seen you, and you were always kind.”
“That’s all over now, Mr. Potts,” said Hugh gently. “You got into the clutches of the most infernal gang of swine, and we’ve been trying to get you out again.” He looked at him quietly. “Do you think you can remember enough to tell us what happened at the beginning? Take your time,” he urged. “There’s no hurry.”
The others drew nearer eagerly, and the millionaire passed his hand dazedly over his forehead.
“I was stopping at the Carlton,” he began, “with Granger, my secretary. I sent him over to Belfast on a shipping deal and——” He paused and looked round the group. “Where is Granger?” he asked.
“Mr. Granger was murdered in Belfast, Mr. Potts,” said Drummond quietly, “by a member of the gang that kidnapped you.”
“Murdered! Jimmy Granger murdered!” He almost cried in his weakness. “What did the swine want to murder him for?”
“Because they wanted you alone,” explained Hugh. “Private secretaries ask awkward questions.”