"What is he like, this Mr. Sanrack?"
"A tall, dark gentleman. Very handsome. Looks like an actor."
"Sanrack—Séverac," mused Sheffield. "Daring! All right, Dawson, you can go. You know where to wait."
Fifteen minutes later arrived M. Duquesne. He had been carpeted by his chief for invoking the aid of the London police in the matter of the telegram.
"Five methods occur to me instantly, stupid pig," the great Lemage had said, "whereby you might have learnt its contents alone!"
Heavy with a sense of his own dull powers of invention—for he found himself unable to conceive one, much less five such schemes—M. Duquesne came into the inspector's room.
"Does your chief join us to-night?" inquired Sheffield, on learning that the famous investigator was in London.
"He may do so, m'sieur; but his plans are uncertain."
Almost immediately afterwards they were joined by Harborne, and all three, entering one of the taxi-cabs that always are in waiting in the Yard, set out for Dulwich Village.
The night was very dark, with ample promise of early rain, and as the cab ran past Westminster Abbey a car ahead swung sharply around Sanctuary Corner. Harborne, whose business it was to know all about smart society, reported: