He said no more for a moment and sat smoking and looking from face to face. Then:
"That is the subject of my note, gentlemen," he added. "The other minutiae are of no immediate importance."
"Non d'un p'tit bonhomme!" whispered Gaston Max. "I see! You think that Ericksen had completed his experiments before he died, but that he never lived to give them to the world?"
The Assistant Commissioner waved one hand in the air so that he discoloration of the first and second fingers was very noticeable.
"It is for you to ascertain these points, M. Max," he said—"I only suggest. But I begin to share your belief that a series of daring and unusual assassinations has been taking place under the eyes of the police authorities of Europe. It can only be poison—an unknown poison, perhaps. We shall be empowered to exhume the body of the late Sir Frank Narcombe in a few days' time, I hope. His case puzzles me hopelessly. What obstacle did a surgeon offer to this hypothetical Eastern movement? On the other hand, what can have been filched from him before his death? The death of an inventor, a statesman, a soldier, can be variously explained by your 'Yellow' hypothesis, M. Max, but what of the death of a surgeon?"
Gaston Max shrugged, and his mobile mouth softened in a quaint smile.
"We have learned a little," he said, "and guessed a lot. Let us hope to guess more—and learn everything!"
"May I suggest," added Dunbar, "that we hear Sowerby's report, sir?"
"Certainly," agreed the Assistant Commissioner—"call Sergeant
Sowerby."
A moment later Sergeant Sowerby entered, his face very red and his hair bristling more persistently than usual.