"I beg your pardon. Mr. Tatton, I think."
Mr. Tatton might possibly have been slightly taken to at hearing himself addressed by his own name: but there was no symptom of it in his voice or manner.
"The same, sir," he readily answered, taking the cigar from his mouth.
"I wish to say a few words to you," pursued Sir Karl. "As well perhaps say them now as later."
"Better, sir. No time like the present: it's all we can make sure of."
"Perhaps you know me, Mr. Tatton?"
"Sir Karl Andinnian--unless I am mistaken," replied the detective, throwing away his cigar.
Sir Karl nodded, but made no assent in words. He would have given a portion of his remaining life to discern whether this man of law, whom he so dreaded, knew, or suspected, that he had not a right to the title.
"I have just come from London," pursued Sir Karl. "I saw Mr. Burtenshaw there to-day. Finding that you were down here, I wished to ascertain whether or not you had come here in search of one Philip Salter. And I hear that it is so."
The officer made no remark to this. It might be, that he was uncertain how far he might trust Sir Karl. The latter observed the reticence: guessed at the doubt.