“I do,” was Rolfe’s response. Then after a second’s hesitation he added in a changed voice: “I really think, Max, that you are scarcely treating me fairly in this matter. Sorely it is in my interests to discover the whereabouts of Maud! I have done my best.”
“Well?”
“And I’ve failed to discover any clue whatever—except one—that—”
And he broke off, without finishing his sentence.
“What have you discovered? Tell me. Be frank with me.”
“I’ve not yet established whether it is a real clue, or whether a mere false surmise. When I have, I will tell you.”
“But cannot we join forces in endeavouring to solve the problem?” Max suggested, his suspicion of his friend now removed.
“That is exactly what I would wish. But how shall we begin? Where shall we commence?” asked Rolfe.
“The truth that it was not you whom I saw leaving the house in Cromwell Road adds fresh mystery to the already astounding circumstance,” Max declared. “The man who so closely resembled you was purposely made up to be mistaken for you. There was some strong motive for this. What do you suggest it could be?”
“To implicate me! But in what?”