"Hard work I had to hush it up," he said. "It would have finished his political career."
The Assistant Commissioner looked politely puzzled.
"It was generally supposed that Sir Brian Malpas was addicted to drugs," he remarked; "and I am not surprised to learn that he patronised this syndicate to which you refer. But——" he paused, smiling satanically. "Ah!" he added—"I see! I see!"
"You perceive the drift of my argument?" cried Max. "You grasp what I mean when I say that we were too hasty? This syndicate existed for a more terrible purpose than the promulgating of a Chinese vice; it had in its clutches men entrusted with national secrets, men of genius but slaves of a horrible drug. Under the influence of that drug, my friends, how many of those secrets may they not have divulged?"
His words were received in hushed silence.
"What became of those stolen plans?" he continued, speaking now in a very low voice. "In the stress of recent years has the Haley torpedo made its appearance so that we might learn to which Government the plans had been taken? No! the same mystery surrounds the fate of the information filched from the drugged brain of 'M. Blank.' In a word"— he raised a finger dramatically—"someone is hoarding up those instruments of destruction! Who is it that collects such things and for what purpose does he collect them?"
Following another tense moment of silence:
"Let us have your own theory, M. Max," said the Assistant Commissioner.
Gaston Max shrugged his shoulders.
"It is not worthy of the name of a theory," he replied, "the surmise which I have made. But recently I found myself considering the fact that 'The Scorpion' might just conceivably be a Chinaman. Now, 'Mr. King,' we believe was a Chinaman, and 'Mr. King,' as I am now convinced, operated not for a personal but for a deeper, political purpose. He stole the brains of genius and accumulated that genius. Is it not possible that these contrary operations may be part of a common plan?"