"Séverac Bablon."
"No one has seen that but myself," continued the detective. "I know better! But anything further you can let me have, sir, will help me to get them out of the tangle: that's what I'm aiming at!"
Mr. Belford's expression had changed when the damning card was placed before him; but his decision was quickly come to. He opened a drawer of the writing table.
"Here," he said, passing a sheet of foolscap to the inspector, "is the plan of international co-operation which—I will return candour for candour—the increasing importance of the case renders expedient. It was drawn up by my friend the Foreign Secretary. It ensures secrecy, dispatch, and affords no loophole by which Bablon can escape us."
His manner had grown brisk. The dilettante was lost in the man of action.
Inspector Sheffield read carefully through the long document and returned it to Belford, frowning thoughtfully.
"Thank you, sir," he said; "and what else?"
Mr. Belford smiled thoughtfully.
"You are aware that, owing to the family complications referred to, I have been employing Mr. Paul Harley, the private detective?"
Sheffield nodded.