“What?” cried Desmond. “He’s escaped after all!”
Francis nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minute and you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tell yours and between us, we’ll piece things together!
“Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. The description of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled my fancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and it seemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill’s appearance for a few hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousing any suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about dusk every afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear.
“Clarkson’s fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I got down to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernally thick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. It must have been close on eight o’clock when I pushed open your front gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and asking for you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowl round the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library I saw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quite unknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I saw that he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and await developments.
“I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I heard a car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bush opposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. They hurried into the house, so that I didn’t have a chance of seeing their faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as he bent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!”
“Max, they called him,” said Desmond.
“His name was Mirsky when last I saw him,” answered Francis, “and mine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent in Russia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you’ll find anywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he’d have the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believe he’s a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was and the sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. But like a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead of going right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning.”
“It was just as well you waited,” said Desmond, “for if you’d gone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat would have been in the fire straight away!”
And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates in the library, the noise of which had effectually covered the sound of the departing ear.