I shook my head, and smiling replied:
“I have only come here to tell you of a very distinct suspicion I entertain that Despujol is at Montauban.”
“Then his friend is your enemy—eh?” he suggested, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed upon mine. “You know the motive of that trap which Despujol set for you, and yet you will not reveal it to me!”
Again I shook my head and smiled.
“It would make my task much easier,” he remarked.
“I am aware of that. But at present mine is only a suspicion. I have no actual knowledge that Charles Rabel is the man you are so desirous of arresting.”
“And you really refuse to tell me who sent this message?” he asked in a tone of disappointment.
“It was sent in secret,” I answered. “Indeed, it was that fact which caused me to suspect. You can, of course, obtain the original of the telegram by applying for it from the authorities. But it is only signed by an initial.”
“How did you obtain knowledge of it?”
“Again I have no intention of disclosing the source of my information, Señor Andrade,” I replied as politely as I could, “I am, as a matter of fact, here in Madrid attempting to solve a very remarkable mystery which occurred in London a few months ago.”