“Yes; he could tell sufficient to cause Statham Brothers to close their doors—eh?” remarked the old servant very seriously.
“That’s just it. I’ve been a confounded idiot. Rolfe warned me only the other day that the fellow was in London, but I said I wouldn’t believe him until I saw the man with my own eyes. To-day I have actually seen him, and there can be no mistake. He’s the man that—that I—”
His sentence remained unfinished, for he sank into his chair and groaned, covered his face again with his hands in an attitude of deep remorse, while Levi stood by watching in silence.
“Rolfe could help you in this matter,” the man exclaimed at last. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I sent him yesterday to Belgrade, but last night he telephoned that he had lost the train.”
“Then he may have left at nine o’clock this morning?”
“Most probably.”
“Then you must recall him by wire.”
“No telegram can reach him till he gets to Servia, for I don’t know whether he’s gone from Ostend or Paris.”
“They’d know in the City. Why not ask them?”