Purdie shook his head. He was puzzled and mystified beyond measure.
"This is getting too deep for me!" he said. "You're the biggest mystery of all, Levendale. Look here!" he went on. "What are you going to do? This queer disappearance of yours—this being away—coming back without your beard and dressed like that!—aren't you going to explain? The police—"
"Yes!" said Levendale. "Ten o'clock this morning—the police-station. Be there—all of you—anybody—anybody who likes—I'm going to tell the police all I know. Purvis and I, we can't do any more—baffled, you understand! But now—go away, Purdie, and let me sleep—I'm dead done for!"
Within ten minutes of leaving them, Purdie was back with Lauriston and
Melky Rubinstein, and motioning them away from Sussex Square.
"That's more extraordinary than the rest!" he said, as they all moved off. "Levendale's there, in his own house, right enough! And he's shaved off his beard and mustache, and he's wearing tramp's clothes and he and Stephen Purvis have been looking night and day, for that confounded diamond, and for eighty thousand pounds! And—what's more, Levendale does not know who killed Daniel Multenius or that he was murdered! But, by George, sirs!" he added, as high above their heads the clock of St. James's Church struck one, "he knows something big!—and we've got to wait nine hours to hear it!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SECRET WORK
The inner room of the police-station, at ten o'clock that morning, was full of men. Purdie, coming there with Lauriston at five minutes before the hour, found Melky Rubinstein hanging about the outer door, and had only just time to warn his companion to keep silence as to their midnight discovery before Guyler and John Purvis drove up in one cab and Mr. Killick in another. Inside, Ayscough, refreshed by his breakfast and an hour's rest, was talking to the inspector and the man from New Scotland Yard—all these looked enquiringly at the group which presently crowded in on them.
"Any of you gentlemen got any fresh news?" demanded the inspector, as he ran his eye over the expectant faces "No?—well, I suppose you're all wanting to know if we have?" He glanced at Ayscough, who was pointing out certain paragraphs in one of the morning newspapers to the Scotland Yard man. "The fact is," he continued, "there have been queer developments since last night—and I don't exactly know where we are! My own opinion is that we'd better wait a few hours before saying anything more definite—to my mind, these newspapers are getting hold of too much news—giving information to the enemy, as it were. I think you'd all better leave things to us, gentlemen—for a while." There was rather more than a polite intimation in this that the presence of so many visitors was not wanted—but John Purvis at once assumed a determined attitude.
"I want to know exactly what's being done, and what's going to be done, about my brother!" he said. "I'm entitled to that! That's the job I came about—myself—as for the rest—"