Had I not sent that telegram from Broadstairs and signed it Kirk, and had not its receipt caused the false Professor quickly to change his quarters? Kirk’s reply staggered me.
“Look here,” I exclaimed again, raising my voice in anger at this open denial of what I knew to be the truth, “on the night of your escape from Sussex Place, the house was searched, and I found evidences of all traces of the crime having been effaced in the furnace of the laboratory.”
“I know,” was his simple response. “I was quite well aware of that. I hope, however, Holford, that you have kept your promise and kept a still tongue.”
“To a certain extent, yes.”
“You told Langton nothing, I trust?” he asked anxiously.
“Why are you in such mortal fear of Langton?” I demanded hotly, halting before him as he stood on the hearthrug coolly surveying me, with his back to the fire.
“My dear fellow,” he answered, “pray calm yourself. Have a drink, and let’s discuss this matter amicably from a purely business-like standpoint. Surely when I invoked your aid I did not commit a grave error of judgment? You have been judicious throughout, I hope? You have not forgotten the great issues which I explained depended upon your silence?”
“My silence you shall command no longer, Mr Kirk!” I cried, suddenly interrupting him. “I’ve been silent far too long.”
“Ah!” he remarked, still unruffled. “I see. Well, your attitude is quite justifiable, my dear sir—quite. You have lost your wife, I understand.”
“Yes,” I said, advancing towards him a couple of paces in a manner which I now believe must have appeared threatening. “And you know more about the trap into which my poor wife has been led than anybody else. That is why I’m here to-night—to compel you to speak—you crafty old cur!”