“Meet anybody—see anybody?” interrupted Blick.
“I don’t remember that we encountered a soul!” answered Lansbury. “Pretty lonely parts, those. We walked up that road, perhaps a mile; then turned and came back to about where we’d met. By that time we’d got on to other topics than that which I’d first mentioned. Von Eckhardstein was not greatly taken with the matter I put before him. He saw its value as a commercial proposition, but while he felt that it would materialize well in this country and in mine, he was not so sure if he could make it a big thing in the mid-European countries, because of certain German opposition. However, he neither said yes nor no: and when we were about to part he asked me where I was staying, and what time I’d be likely to go to bed. I told him I had put up at the Sceptre Inn, close by, and that I expected Markenmore there about ten-thirty to eleven, to supper, and that he and I would be sure to sit up late as we’d a good deal to talk about. Von Eckhardstein then told me a thing which may be of some significance to you police people, now that things have turned out as they have. He said that he was suffering badly from insomnia; couldn’t sleep at night—at any rate as he ought to—and that since coming to this place where he was visiting, he’d frequently gone out long walks in the middle of the night to see if he could induce sleep. He said that if he so went out that night, and if, in the meantime, he’d changed his mind about the proposition I’d put before him, he’d likely drop in on Markenmore and myself if he saw a light in my sitting-room window. So——”
“From his last remark you gathered that he knew the Sceptre?” enquired Blick. “Enough to know where your sitting-room was, eh?”
“Well, that’s what he said, anyhow,” replied Lansbury. “As for my sitting-room, it was one which the landlord showed me into when I stepped into his house—a biggish room on the left-hand side of the hall, with a French window that opened on the front garden.”
“Precisely,” said Blick. “I’m occupying that room, now. Well——?”
“Well, we parted on that,” continued Lansbury. “Von Eckhardstein turned into a little gate that led, I suppose, to the house where he was staying, and I strolled back to the Sceptre. I sat down and waited for Markenmore. He was very late in coming; in fact, he didn’t come until close on twelve o’clock. He was in very high spirits—he told me, as we sat at supper, that he’d met his old sweetheart (handsomest woman in England, he called her!), and that they were both so pleased to meet again that they’d fixed it up to be married right off, and I’d have to be his best man. Then we got on to business, and I mentioned von Eckhardstein. Of course he knew all about von Eckhardstein, and he said that von Eckhardstein was staying with this lady, he, Markenmore, was going to marry, though he hadn’t met him then, being more pleasantly engaged. We went on discussing our business until close on two o’clock in the morning. Just about that time I heard the latch of the garden gate snap, and guessing that was von Eckhardstein out on one of his nocturnal rambles, I opened the French window and stepped into the garden. There he was, coming across the bit of lawn, and I took him in and introduced him to Markenmore, and we began to re-discuss the business proposition. That——”
“A moment, if you please!” interrupted Blick. “Before you tell us about that, will you answer a question which has just occurred to me? During the time you three were together, did Markenmore ever mention his approaching marriage to von Eckhardstein? I want to know—particularly.”
“No, I am sure he did not,” replied Lansbury promptly. “While the three of us were together, nothing but the immediate business proposition was discussed. What Markenmore may have said on that subject—if he said anything—to von Eckhardstein later, when I parted from them and left them together, I can’t presume to speculate on, but during the hour or so in which we were all in company, nothing was talked of but business. Now, without telling you the exact details of the secret, I’ll tell what that business was. A young fellow who lived in a small country town between this city and London, getting in touch with Markenmore as a financial man, offered him a trade secret which he was anxious to sell outright, for strict cash, for a certain amount of money that he required to set himself up in business. The amount asked was three thousand pounds. It was a good bargain—a very good bargain. The advantage was on the side of the purchaser—but the young fellow had fixed his own price and would evidently be well content if he got it. After von Eckhardstein came to the Sceptre we all three talked the matter out—Markenmore had the papers and showed them—and we decided to buy: that is, von Eckhardstein decided to come in, for Markenmore and myself had already made up our minds. We then settled matters: von Eckhardstein and myself each giving Markenmore a thousand pounds in notes as our shares——”
“Do I understand that you each gave Markenmore one thousand pounds, in notes, there and then?” asked Blick abruptly. “Notes?”
“Why, certainly!” answered Lansbury. “That’s just what I said. Bank of England notes. To which, of course, he added a similar sum of his own—to make up the three thousand. What’s surprising you?”