"'Adolph Meyer, born 1864. Financier. Son of Jacob Meyer of Düsseldorf. M.A. London University, Commander of de Victorian Order, Chevalier of de Legion of Honour. Address: 16, Lombard Street, E.C., and St. George's Island, Bournemouth.' Dat is all. Dere are no clubs and no acres. I have de orders because I did service to England and France. I am M.A. of London University because, when I was a young man behind de counter in de bank all day, I worked for my dekree by night; and now I am here, and you are where I like to put you, Sir Rubert Inkledree."
"Bournemouth Police Station," suggested Mr. Marvell, who was aching to get to business.
"Bournemouth Police Station?" repeated Mr. Meyer slowly. "No, Mr. Marvell; I tink not. I am Master of Arts of London University and reader of Blato, letting alone de odder dings. He shall go free, and Mr. Marvell, you will blease forket de incident. I telekraft for you on Saturday. You came, but dere was noding. Dat is what you will report, please, at Scotland Yard.
"But you, Sir Rubert, you will not forket. You will remember. You will neider kill nor rob akain, because it is de wish of Mr. Adolph Meyer, who makes you free instead of sending you to de Police Station.
"Also, Sir Rubert, I suchest dat you give up dat Club dat Mr. Marvell speaks of. See, you have my Holbein in your pocket. Take it, since you want it. Show it to your friends, and say dat Mr. Meyer, who is M.A. of London University, Commander, Chevalier and tcheneral treamer, says dat dey had better disbant, for de stars are singing, and Mr. Marvell is watching."
Mr. Marvell folded up his handcuffs methodically, and replaced them in his pocket. He was too well trained to show the intense disgust he felt at the turn the proceedings had taken.
Again the burglar endeavoured to speak, but once more Mr. Meyer commanded silence.
"Mr. Marvell will see you to your boat, Sir Rubert," he said. "I drust dat you will weigh my words well. It is not often dat I say so many, and dey have caused me some inconvenience to speak, as I am not accustomed to spend Monday nights in my marine villa. To be here I had dis afternoon to postpone an interview wid de Turkish Ambassador, which I have since learnt by telekram from Constantinople has been misconstrued. De Sultan will not sleep much to-night, and in de morning newspapers dere will be talk of drouble in de Balkan States. Some peoples will be fearing war, Sir Rubert, and all on account of you and your midnight photokraphings. I wonder what Dommas Carlyle would say to a mess like dat. Goot night."