“Very interesting to know that,” said the vicar.
“He’s the only layman I’ve met who could grasp, on sight, the principle on which Murdwell’s Law depends. And more than that. When by his request I explained to him as briefly as I could the theory of the whole thing, he laid his finger at once on the weak link in the chain. I could hardly believe that he hadn’t a regular scientific training, and that he hadn’t made researches of his own into radioactivity.”
“He probably has.”
“He says not. And he knew nothing of my theory, but he said at once that I had only to restate my formula to alter the nature of war altogether.”
“And is that true?”
“Not a doubt of it. That’s why I’m here, and incidentally that’s why I have such a queer-looking butler. You noticed him, no doubt?”
The vicar had.
“I’ll tell you a little secret. That man is one of New York’s smartest detectives, and he never lets me out of his sight.”
“Really!” said the vicar, drawing warily at a very large cigar.
“You see, at present it’s a nice question whether certain people can hand Gazelee Payne Murdwell his medicine before he hands them theirs. That’s what it all boils down to, you know.”