"I have reasons for not wishing it to be known that I am stirring in this," admitted Karl. "Grave reasons. At Scotland Yard they might recognize me, and perhaps put questions that at present I would rather not answer."
"Look here, then," said the lawyer. "I will give you a letter to one of the private men connected with the force--a detective, in fact. You can see him at his own house. He is one of the cleverest men they have, and will be sure to be able to tell you everything you want to know. There's not the least necessity for me to mention your name to him, and he'll not seek to learn it. I shall say you are a client and friend of ours, and that will be sufficient."
"Thank you, that will be best," replied Karl.
Mr. George Plunkett wrote the note there and then, and gave it to Karl. It was addressed to Mr. Burtenshaw, Euston Road. He took a cab and found the house--a middling-sized house with buff-coloured blinds to the windows. A maid servant came to the door, and her cap flew off as she opened it.
"Can I see Mr. Burtenshaw?" asked Sir Karl
"Mr. Burtenshaw's out, sir," she replied, stooping to pick up the "cap,"--a piece of bordered net the size of a five-shilling piece. "He left word that he should be back at five o'clock."
"If I were a detective officer, my servants should wear caps on their heads," thought Karl, as he turned away, and went to get some dinner.
The church clocks were striking five when he was at the door again. Mr. Burtenshaw was at home; and Karl, declining to give his name, was shown to an upstairs room. A little man of middle age, with a sallow face and rather nice grey eyes, was standing by a table covered with papers. Karl bowed, and handed him Mr. George Plunkett's note.
"Take a seat, sir, pray, while I read it," said Mr. Burtenshaw, instinctively recognising Karl for a gentleman and a noble one. And Karl sat down near the window.
"Very good; I am at your service, sir," said the detective, drawing a chair opposite Karl's. "What can I do for you?"