“Oh, I could exist without the necessities if someone supplied me with all the luxuries,” laughed Dick. “But seriously, Tom, why did you send me this urgent note?”
Tom beckoned to Lambert. “Put the cigars and coffee on the table, and don’t wait.” He remained silent until his order had been swiftly obeyed, then continued, “While I was in Philadelphia, Dick, I saw your brother John.”
“How’s the dear old chap?” inquired Dick, much pleased to get first-hand information, as he and his brother were poor correspondents.
“Looking finely, but, of course, as busy as ever. Never saw such a man for work,” grumbled Tom. “He told me he was on the point of coming to Washington, when he read in the papers that I was at the Bellevue-Stratford. Therefore, he decided to consult me instead of you.”
“What did he consult you about?”
“The Trevor murder.”
Dick straightened up in his chair. “What on earth induces him to take a particular interest in that?”
“In the first place he knows you are investigating the murder, having read your signed despatches to the Inquirer. Secondly, he feels that he is holding back some information which may help to elucidate the mystery. He confided certain facts to me, first making me promise to tell no one but you.”
“What did he tell you?” eagerly demanded Dick.
“That Beatrice Trevor and Donald Gordon were married on the first of January.”