He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:
“And lastly, Nur-el-Din?”
The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed.
“I’m sure you feel much better now,” he said. Then his face grew grave and he added:
“Your last question answers all the others!”
“Meaning Nur-el-Din?” asked Desmond.
The Chief nodded.
“Nur-el-Din,” he repeated. “That’s why you’re here, that’s why I had you followed last night, that’s why I...” he hesitated for the word, “let’s say, presumed (one knows for certain so little in our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with the violent death of poor old Mackwayte. Nur-el-Din in the center, the kernel, the hub of everything!”
The Chief leant across the table and Desmond pulled his chair closer.
“There’s only one other man in the world can handle this job, except you,” he began, “and that’s your brother Francis. Do you know where he is, Okewood?”