“Why am I not murdered quietly?”
“The same reason, with another. I attended to that. Every one who knows this story of Shubar Khan must be reckoned with. I told them that you must be kept alive—that I could secure your written confession. They believe that I am at it now.”
Routledge was throwing the whole strength of his concentrated faculties into the eyes of the old man. Cardinegh’s face was like death.
“Where did you meet the secret agents?”
“At Naples. They had me on the carpet almost before I left ship.”
“This is the most absorbing tale I have ever encountered, Jerry. I am to give you a written confession of how I fell in with the Russians and gave them the documents concerning Shubar Khan, which I had stolen. Why did you choose me to make this confession—because I am your best friend?”
“Yes,” Cardinegh answered hoarsely; “because you are my best friend. Not another man in the world would have carried the burden for me. They would never have let me reach London.”
Routledge bent forward and spoke with lowered voice: “Then it was you who fell in with the Russians——”
“Yes.”
Routledge couldn’t help it—the presence of the other put a poisoned look into his face for an instant. The last fifteen minutes he had endured every phase of astonishment and horror. The revelation shook the psychic roots of his being.