“The gentleman,” he declared, “is perfectly right, and I entirely agree with him in thinking that a detective, were it Tom Bob himself, is bound under certain circumstances to keep the secret of his identity. In other cases, however, it is best he should make himself known, and that explains why Tom Bob, without therefore laying himself open to a charge of inconsistency, has chosen on the one hand to preserve an incognito on board ship while on the other informing the French press by wireless of his speedy arrival in Paris.”
All eyes were turned on the speaker, who was evidently one of the Lorraine’s passengers. He was a man of about forty, whose brick-red complexion was the more noticeable as his hair was deeply tinged with silver. Like many Americans, he carried at his buttonhole a miniature U.S.A. flag in enamelled porcelain; two heavy gold rings adorned his finger, and he wore coat and trousers of light grey cloth. The inspection continued for some seconds after its object had quietly resumed his meal, for none of the first class passengers could recollect having ever seen this particular individual during the passage over.
At this moment a Frenchman who sat facing him, quite a young man, who had joined the train at Hâvre, addressed the stranger:
“Excuse me, sir, but they say Tom Bob proposes to take measures in this country to arrest Fantômas, that elusive brigand who always baffles the best efforts of the police ... it is a bold venture!”
The man of the silvery locks looked up at the youth, then fixing his eyes on the other’s face, answered calmly after a pause:
“It is very American, sir; what need to say more?”
“Well said, sir,” exclaimed a stout, ruddy-faced man, known to all on the ship as being Hamilton Gould, an enormously wealthy Californian, who had been round the world three or four times already, “in America we are all like that.”
Mr. Van Buren smiled, but said nothing, while Mrs. Bigelow, entering into the spirit of the conversation, suggested:
“Perhaps Tom Bob was just one of the bar tenders or maybe that old lady with the white wig who by her own account travels for a Paris dressmaker.”
The Princess Danidoff added yet another guess with a glance of irony at the last speaker: