He cleared the sofa with a sweep of his arm which sent the books flying on to the floor.
“Ernest,” said MacTavish, “I want you to give Miss Trevert here a letter to some reliable fellow in Rotterdam who can assist her in making a few enquiries of a very delicate nature!”
“What sort of enquiries?” asked Dulkinghorn bluntly.
“About a firm called Elias van der Spyck,” replied Euan.
“Of Rotterdam?” enquired the other sharply.
“That’s right! Do you know them?”
“I’ve heard the name. They do a big business. But hadn’t Miss Trevert better tell her story herself?”
Mary told him of the death of Hartley Parrish and of the letter she had found upon his desk. She said nothing of the part played by Robin Greve.
“Hmph!” said Dulkinghorn. “You think it might be blackmail, eh? Well, well, it might be. Have you got this letter about you? Hand it over and let’s have a look at it.”
His nervous manner had vanished. His face seemed to take on a much keener expression. He took the letter from Mary and read it through. Then he crossed the room to a wall cupboard which he unlocked with a key on a chain, produced a small tray on which stood a number of small bottles, some paint-brushes and pens, and several little open dishes such as are used for developing photographs. He bore the tray to the table, cleared a space on a corner by knocking a pile of books and papers on the floor, and set it down.