“You mean that I should have profited pecuniarily by concealing the fact that Professor Greer is dead and that an impostor has assumed his identity? You intended that I also should be an accomplice of the assassin!”
“No—not exactly,” he replied with an evil, triumphant grin. “But, really, my dear sir,” he added, “I’ve had a very long journey, and I’m tired. Is it any use prolonging this argument?”
“Not unless you wish!” I snapped. “I have given you full warning of my intention to reveal the whole affair to the police.”
“Ah! Then that will be very unfortunate—for you,” replied the queer old man; “and for your wife most of all.”
“Yes, I know. You intend to bring disaster upon me and upon her if I dare to go to Scotland Yard!” I cried.
In my ignorance of the truth I believed my threats would be of avail. Ah, had I but known the actual facts, how differently would I have acted! But surely that enigma was one that was beyond human power to elucidate. Upon every hand I found complications. Plot lay within plot—all directed against myself and against poor innocent Mabel, who had flown to me on receipt of what she had believed to be my urgent telegram.
“My intentions, Mr Holford, entirely depend upon your actions,” said Kirk, very plainly. “If you are foolish—well, then I cannot guarantee the safety of your wife. My advice to you, however, is to recall all I told you, believe in the truth of my statements, and act with slow discretion.”
“But my wife?” I cried. “I must—I will save her. She is in peril, I am sure of that!”
“She may be in grave peril if you go to the police,” he said enigmatically; “and, believe me, they cannot assist us in the least to discover who killed Professor Greer.”
“Why?”