"But what?" I cried.
"No, not yet. I wait," he laughed. "I know every-ting. He kill my master; I kill him. My master be very good master."
"Yes, I know he was," I said.
"That man Cane—very bad man. Your poor young laidee—ah? She not know me. I know her. You no say you see me—eh? I tell every-ting later. You go Ostend; I meet you. Then we see them."
"At Ostend!" I cried. "Are they there?"
"You go Ostend to-morrow. Tell me your hotel. Senos come—eh? Senos see them with you. Oh! Oh!" he said in his quaint way, grinning from ear to ear.
I looked at the curious figure beside me. He was the actual man who had heard the dying cries of Sir Digby Kemsley.
"But, tell me," I urged, "have you been in London? Do you know that a young lady died in Cane's apartment—was killed there?"
"Senos knows," he laughed grimly. "Senos has not left him—ah, no! He kill my master. I never leave him till I crush him—never!"
"Then you know, of what occurred at Harrington Gardens?" I repeated.