“I think not. I don’t think he has to.”
“You mean,” Sturm stammered, perturbed, “you think he knows—suspects?”
“I think he is one thing or the other: merely Nogam, or one of the greatest of living actors. In either case he is flawless—thus far. But if not merely Nogam, he will have a subtler means of eavesdropping than by listening at doors.”
“The dictograph?”
“Make your mind easy about that. This room is searched regularly by Shaik Tsin. So is Nogam’s. It is certain there is neither a dictograph installed here nor any means at Nogam’s disposal for connecting with a dictograph installation. Indeed, so closely is Nogam watched, and by more cunning eyes than mine—sometimes I begin to be afraid he is simply what he seems.”
“Then you do suspect him!”
“My good Sturm, I suspect everybody.”
Sturm pondered this before pressing his point again.
“Karslake found the fellow for you,” he suggested at length.
“True.”