"If you say the word!"
Perceval, chief of the Call, leaned back in his chair, lost in debate within himself for a minute. As a rule, it did not take nearly so long as that for him to make up his mind.
"All right," he said. "You can go. First, of course, you will go to this place in Italy and ascertain if Silwood died, was buried, and all the rest of it. That may be the end of your search; but if it is not, why then go ahead, Westgate. You'll start without delay, and let me know as soon as possible what you are doing."
And Westgate went from the presence of his chief, rejoicing exceedingly on being sent on a mission after his own heart.
It was therefore more than annoying that almost the first person he saw on his arrival in Genoa was Sub-inspector Brydges, Gale's under-study at Scotland Yard. As soon as he saw him he guessed that Gale had despatched his subordinate to Italy, to make inquiries about Silwood's death, and a brief conversation with the officer, whom he often met and knew perfectly, made this a certainty.
Brydges made no secret of his errand. He had already wired Gale that he was satisfied Silwood was dead, and had been buried at Camajore, just as the inspector had been informed by the Eversleighs. And he saw no reason for concealing this from Westgate, after they had had some talk together in which both of them, metaphorically speaking, put their cards, or most of them, on the table.
"You can take it from me," concluded Brydges, "that Mr. Silwood is as dead—as dead as Queen Anne."
But Westgate was not satisfied.
So he went to Camajore, saw the Syndic, the doctor, the nurses, and every one besides from whom he could get any information. The result was always the same. Silwood had died. The polite Syndic even took him to see the mound of earth under which lay Silwood's remains.
"It was no good?" asked the chief of Westgate on his return to the office of the Call.