“Are you—English?” asked Robin in astonishment.
“Only in this room,” was the dry reply, “and don’t you or our friend, the doctor, here forget it. You’ll both take whisky? Three fingers will do you good, Mr. Greve, for I see you’ve had a roughish time this morning. Say when!”
He spurted a siphon into three glasses.
“Before we go any farther,” he went on, “perhaps I had better identify myself—to save any further misunderstandings, don’t you know? Do either of you gentlemen happen to know a party called Dulkinghorn? You may have heard of him, Mr. Greve, for I can see you have been in the army ...”
“Not Ernest Dulkinghorn, of the War Office?” asked Robin.
“The identical party!”
“I never met him,” said Robin. “But I was at the War Office for a bit before I was demobilized and I heard fellows speak of him. Counter-espionage, isn’t he?”
“That’s right,” nodded Herr Schulz. “You can read his letter to me introducing Miss Trevert.”
He handed a sheet of paper to Robin.
DEAR SCHULZ [it ran], Victor Marbran’s push appear to be connected with Hartley Parrish, who has just met his death under suspicious circumstances. You will have read about it in the English papers. Miss Trevert was engaged to H.P. and has a letter from Elias van der Spyck and Company which she found on Parrish’s desk after his death. I should say that the Marbran-Parrish connection would repay investigation.