After a while the millionaire recovered his composure, and with many breaks and pauses the slow, disjointed story continued.
“Lakington! That was the name of the man I met at the Carlton. And then there was another ... Peter ... Peterson. That’s it. We all dined together, I remember, and it was after dinner, in my private sitting-room, that Peterson put up his proposition to me.... It was a suggestion that he thought would appeal to me as a business man. He said—what was it?—that he could produce a gigantic syndicalist strike in England—revolution, in fact; and that as one of the biggest shipowners—the biggest, in fact—outside this country, I should be able to capture a lot of the British carrying trade. He wanted two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to do it, paid one month after the result was obtained.... Said there were others in it....”
“On that valuation,” interrupted the detective thoughtfully, “it makes one million pounds sterling,” and Drummond nodded. “Yes, Mr. Potts; and then?”
“I told him,” said the millionaire, “that he was an infernal scoundrel, and that I’d have nothing whatever to do with such a villainous scheme. And then—almost the last thing I can remember—I saw Peterson look at Lakington. Then they both sprang on me, and I felt something prick my arm. And after that I can’t remember anything clearly. Your face, sir”—he turned to Drummond—“comes to me out of a kind of dream; and yours, too,” he added to Darrell. “But it was like a long, dreadful nightmare, in which vague things, over which I had no power, kept happening, until I woke up late last night in this gentleman’s house.” He bowed to Ted Jerningham, who grinned cheerfully.
“And mighty glad I was to hear you talking sense again, sir,” he remarked. “Do you mean to say you have no recollection of how you got there?”
“None, sir; none,” answered the millionaire. “It was just part of the dream.”
“It shows the strength of the drug those swine used on you,” said Drummond grimly. “You went there in an aeroplane, Mr. Potts.”
“An aeroplane!” cried the other in amazement. “I don’t remember it. I’ve got no recollection of it whatever. There’s only one other thing that I can lay hold of, and that’s all dim and muzzy.... Pearls.... A great rope of pearls.... I was to sign a paper; and I wouldn’t.... I did once, and then there was a shot and the light went out, and the paper disappeared....”
“It’s at my bank at this moment, Mr. Potts,” said Hugh; “I took that paper, or part of it, that night.”
“Did you?” The millionaire looked at him vaguely. “It was to promise them a million dollars when they had done what they said.... I remember that.... And the pearl necklace.... The Duchess of...” He paused and shook his head wearily.