“Burton Blair!” echoed the old fellow, his hands on the arms of his chair as he leaned forward intently. “Yes, why?”
“He discovered a secret, didn’t he?”
“Yes, through me—made millions out of it, they say.”
“When did you last see him?”
“About five or six years ago.”
“When he discovered you living here?”
“That’s it. He searched every road in England to find me.”
“You gave him this photograph?”
“No, I think he stole it.”
“Where did you first meet him?”