“I can—” Hardy looked troubled—“but you gentlemen have got to stand by me, for I may get into a devil of a row by exceeding my authority.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tom. “I am convinced de Morny is the murderer, and that our bluff will work.”
“I must speak to Captain Brown first, sir,” objected the detective.
Tom wasted no time in words, he leaned across and spoke to his chauffeur.
“Police Headquarters,” he ordered, “as fast as you can get there.”
About an hour later the big car purred softly up K Street and stopped before a modest red-brick house. Tom led the way up the short flagged walk and rang the bell. A Union Transfer baggage wagon drove up to the curb, and Hardy nodded toward it, whispering to Dick: “Making a quick get-away.”
“Take my card to Monsieur le Comte,” said Tom to the attendant who answered the door. “I will detain him but a moment.”
His air of authority had its effect on the servant, and he promptly showed them into the small parlor, saying he would summon his master.
Too nervous to sit down, Dick wandered around the cozy room, looking at first one ornament and then another. The place spoke of wealth and good taste. A Corot and a Millet hung on the walls. The rich coloring of the oriental hangings and rugs gave out an air of comfort and warmth which was added to by the cannel coal fire burning cheerfully in the grate. It had grown bitterly cold outside, and the men, grateful for the warmth, stood grouped about the fireplace as Count de Morny entered.
“Ah! Monsieur Blake, most welcome; and you, too, Monsieur,” shaking Dick warmly by the hand, “and—” looking at the detective.