“And one which I most heartily reciprocate,” was my hard reply. “I’ve been endeavouring to find you for a long time. I followed you in Edinburgh, in Glasgow, and later on in Birmingham.”
“Then surely it is a rather happy circumstance that we have met to-day?” he said, rather fussily.
“Happy for me, but perhaps unhappy for you!” I replied, with a dry laugh.
“Why?”
“Because I now intend to expose your very clever plot. The secret you have sold to Sir Mark Edwards does not belong to you at all, but to Professor Ernest Greer, the man who was killed in the room yonder—in his own laboratory!”
His lips grew paler and set themselves hard. I saw in his dark eyes an expression of fear. He held me in terror—that was quite plain.
“Holford, you are mistaken,” declared Kirk.
“In what way?” I demanded.
“Professor Ernest Greer stands before you!”
“No!” I cried. “This man is the impostor—the impostor who wrote to my wife, and enticed her from her home.”