“Excellency,” he said, “I have carefully concealed this report through the misfortunes that have attended me. It is not certain that I shall be able to deliver it. Will you give it for me to the jewel merchant Vanderdick, in Amsterdam? He will send it to Mahadal in Bombay, and it will go north with the caravans.”
His voice changed into a note of solicitation.
“You will not fail me, Excellency—already for my bias to the Master I am reduced in merit.”
I put the scroll into my pocket and went out, for a motorcar had come into the park, and I knew that Marquis had arrived.
I met Sir Henry and the superintendent in the long corridor; they had been looking in at my interview through the elevated grating.
“Marquis,” I cried, “the judge was right to cut short the criminal trial and issue a lunacy warrant. This creature is the maddest lunatic in this whole asylum. The human mind is capable of any absurdity.”
Sir Henry looked at me with a queer ironical smile.
“The judge was wrong,” he said. “The creature, as you call him, is as sane as any of us.”
“Then you believe this amazing story?” I said.
“I believe Rodman was found at daylight dead on the hearth, with practically every bone in his body crushed,” he replied.