“Why, you and Mrs. Marsh, of course.”
Phew! So he knew that, too!
“You seem to know a lot of things,” I remarked, as casually as I could.
“It is my hobby,” he replied, with his crooked, cynical smile. “You are to be congratulated, I must say, on Mrs. Marsh’s escape. It was, I believe, very neatly executed. You didn’t do it yourself, I suppose?”
“No,” I said, “and, to tell the truth, I have no idea how it was done.” I was prepared to swear by all the gods that I knew nothing of the affair.
“Nor have they any idea at No. 2 Goróhovaya,” he said. “At least, so I am told.” He appeared not to attach importance to the matter. “By the way,” he continued a moment later, “I want to warn you against a fellow I have heard Marsh was in touch with. Alexei—Alexei—what’s his name?—Alexei Fomitch something-or-other—I’ve forgotten the surname.”
The Policeman!
“Ever met him?”
“Never heard of him,” I said, indifferently.
“Look out if you do,” said Zorinsky, “he is a German spy.”