“Then why entertain any doubt in this direction? The Professor has never mentioned it, which shows us that there is no need why we should query it.”
“Yes, but may not the fact of the text having been modernised be the reason of Griffin’s non-success in discovering the key number?”
“Holmboe discovered it,” remarked the other, “therefore, I see no reason why Griffin—with Holmboe’s statement before him and in addition that scrap of manuscript which evidently relates to the key—should not be equally successful.”
“Ah!” sighed the ugly little man whose fidgety movements showed his increasing anxiety, “if we could but know what the old German was doing—or in what direction he is working.”
“He’s not back at his own home. I received a telegram from our Leipzig correspondent only yesterday. His whereabouts is just as mysterious as that of your friend Mullet. By the way—would he never tell you who were the principals in this opposition to us?”
“No, he has always steadily refused.”
“Some shady characters, perhaps—men whom he is compelled to shield, eh?”
“I think so,” answered the Doctor. “I wanted him to stand in with us, but he’s a strange fellow, for though he promised to help me, he refused to participate in any part of the profit.”
“Has some compunction in betraying his friends, evidently,” laughed Frank. “I’m very anxious to meet him. He promised to call on Griffin, but has never done so.”
“He’s been put on his guard, and cleared out, that’s my candid opinion. ‘Red Mullet’ is a splendid fellow, but a very slippery customer, as the police know too well. He’s probably half-way across the world by this time. He’s a very rapid traveller. I’ve sometimes had letters from him from a dozen different cities in as many days.”