“Dr. Thorndyke?” inquired a breathless, quavering voice.
“Yes, come in. You sent me a letter by hand?”
“I did, sir,” was the reply; and the speaker entered, but at the sight of me he stopped short.
“This is my colleague, Dr. Jervis,” Thorndyke explained. “You need have no——”
“Oh, I remember him,” our visitor interrupted in a tone of relief. “I have seen you both before, you know, and you have seen me too—though I don’t suppose you recognize me,” he added, with a sickly smile.
“Frank Belfield?” asked Thorndyke, smiling also.
Our visitor’s jaw fell and he gazed at my colleague in sudden dismay.
“And I may remark,” pursued Thorndyke, “that for a man in your perilous position, you are running most unnecessary risks. That wig, that false beard and those spectacles—through which you obviously cannot see—are enough to bring the entire police force at your heels. It is not wise for a man who is wanted by the police to make up as though he had just escaped from a comic opera.”
Mr. Belfield seated himself with a groan, and, taking off his spectacles, stared stupidly from one of us to the other.
“And now tell us about your little affair,” said Thorndyke. “You say that you are innocent?”