The honest ring of his voice left no room for doubt, and Wallion's hopes dwindled; his journey had been in vain; the key to the problem was certainly not in Christian Dreyel's hands. Greatly disappointed he pushed the dolls away from him and said:
"So you will not even venture a guess that these figures were sent by William Robertson?"
Dreyel shrugged his shoulders.
"What's the use of guessing? ... I can give you one hint though, the expression 'likeness' of the 'dead' which my cousin used, is quite correct. The figure standing there is meant to represent a certain Aaron Payter, the one my cousin had was meant, he affirmed; for one Walter Randolph ... both Payter and Randolph died fifteen years ago ... we had been schoolfellows..."
Wallion put his hands to his head in despair.
"I don't follow you," he said. "You say you don't know anything, and all the time I feel that I am on the verge of being enlightened. All those names: William Robertson, Craig Russel, Sanderson, the black Colonel, Payter, Randolph and Toroni ... the thirteenth. Who are they? You must know if you were at school together."
He went round to the other side of the table and suddenly taking Dreyel by the shoulders, he said in a tone of annoyance:
"One thing, at least, you can tell me, what is the meaning of 'King Solomon'?"
Dreyel gently but firmly shook himself free. "You are very insistent, Mr. Wallion."
"It concerns more people than yourself."