“Yes. He was, before his retirement last year, one of the smartest men in the Paris detective force. During eighteen months before he was pensioned he was head of the section charged with the inquiries into the anarchist outrages.”
“But he was apparently endeavouring to levy blackmail!” I observed.
“Oh! there’s a good deal of corruption among the French police,” he answered, laughing. “Perhaps, living retired, he is seeking to make money out of the secrets entrusted to him in his professional capacity. That is often the case.”
Our conversation then turned upon the inquest upon the body of Gilbert Sternroyd, which had now been fixed, and to which I was summoned to give evidence regarding the discovery of the body at Gloucester Square. Grindlay, in answer to my question, admitted that Jack had not yet been arrested, but that as soon as certain inquiries then in active progress were complete the German police would detain him for extradition.
“Then you still believe him guilty,” I observed with sadness.
“Can anyone doubt it?” he asked. “I ought to say nothing about the matter, but as you are a witness I may as well tell you that our inquiries show conclusively that your friend Bethune committed the murder, although the circumstances under which the fatal shot was fired were of such an astounding character that I leave you to hear them officially. It is sufficient for me to say that the murder of young Sternroyd is the strangest and most complicated crime that in the course of my twenty-four years’ experience I have ever been called upon to deal with. But I must be off. I am due at eleven-thirty at Shepherd’s Bush, so you must excuse me. We will meet again soon. Good-bye.”
A moment later we parted, and I returned to my chambers.
Soon after eleven o’clock next morning Saunders entered my sitting-room and announced a visitor. I took the card. It was Dora’s!
Rushing forward I greeted her gladly, and bringing her in, enthroned her in my big armchair, the same in which she had sat on a previous occasion when she had called upon me.
She was dressed simply but with taste in light grey alpaca with a large black hat and veil, but the face which was disclosed when the veil was raised was pale as death, lit by two large lustrous eyes. For a moment she regarded me with a sad, wistful expression, as if imploring me not to reproach but to pity her. Then a sad, quiet smile slowly dawned upon her countenance, and she stretched forth her hand towards me.