“I think I’ll send him abroad again. Of course it’s high time he came to life, as you say, if it’s only for the sake of getting you out of what must be an extremely awkward position. My wife tells me that match-making mammas of her acquaintance regard you with romantic interest as the owner of Luttrell Marches. Well, I’ll see him when he comes up. Meanwhile, I’ve had Simpson’s report. He says that, according to reliable information, two men were concerned in the sale of Formula ‘A.’ One is a man called Belcovitch, the other, who seems to have kept in the background, is described as a big good-looking man—florid complexion, blue eyes, either English or American, though he passed under the name of Bernier and professed to be Swiss. Does that fit your friend Ember by any chance?”
“No,” said Henry, “but it sounds very much like Molloy.”
“Molloy was supposed to have gone to the States, wasn’t he?”
Piggy had been drawing a neat brick wall at the foot of a sheet of foolscap. He now sketched in rapidly two fighting cats. It was a spirited performance. Each cat had wildly up-ended fur and a waving tail.
“Well, he and Ember told Miss Smith that he was going to the States. I don’t know that that goes for very much.”
“’M, no,” said Piggy. “Well, Bernier passed through Paris yesterday, and is in London to-day. Belcovitch has gone to Vienna. Now, if Bernier is Molloy, he’ll probably communicate with Ember. I was having him shadowed, of course, but the fool who was on the job has managed to let him slip. I’m hoping to pick him up again, but meanwhile....”
Piggy was putting in the cats’ claws as he spoke, his enormous hand absolutely steady over the delicate curves and sharp points.
“There’s nothing more about Ember?” said Henry.
Sir Julian shook his head, and went on drawing. “He wore the white flower of a blameless life in Chicago, and was absolutely unknown to the police,” he said. “There’s a three-volume novel about Molloy, though. You’d better have it to read. Now you go off and have some sleep, and ... er, by the way, if Miss Smith ... what’s her other name?”
“Jane,” said Henry.