“Ah, my boy,” replied “Red Mullet,” lighting a fresh cigarette without turning a hair, “that’s really interesting. And if I go down to Bow Street depend upon it I shan’t go alone. So you can just go back to Berkeley Square, and tell Felix what I say.”
“Why—what’s the matter with you to-night, Charlie?” asked the other, looking at him in surprise.
What could the man know, he wondered? He seemed to scent the betrayal intended as soon as he was across the Channel.
“Matter?” he echoed. “Why, my dear Jim, I merely keep my eyes skinned, that’s all.”
“And you refuse to heed Felix’s warning?”
“Yes, I’m very comfortable at home here—and here I mean to stay. Let the police come along if they like and I’ll entertain them with a very interesting story. They re fond of hearing stories from men like myself, Jim.”
“What the devil is the matter with you!” cried Jannaway, turning upon him fiercely.
“Nothing, I’m only surprised to find you such a fool, Jim. I thought better of you,” was the other’s calm response. “Do you know,” he added, “you people who live in London want the moss scraped off you. We boys on the Continent are a lot sharper. We see the word danger written up, even when it’s beyond the horizon and the detective is still off the map. You people here deliberately run your heads into nooses.”
“How?”
“Well, you and Felix have arranged the little loop for yourselves in this affair, my dear boy. So do go home and sleep on it,” he laughed merrily.