“I hope not,” I assured him. “Were I not in possession of certain exclusive information I should not venture to come here from London and trouble you, as I am doing.”
Graham, whom I had known for a number of years, looked very straight at me.
“What is the nature of this exclusive information?” he inquired. “You are concealing something, Hugh.”
“Yes. I know I am,” was my reply as I smiled at him. “I am here to discover the truth regarding the death of Baron van Veltrup.”
“Then you suspect foul play—eh?” asked my friend.
“Yes, I do,” I replied in a low voice, “and I want you, Graham, to put me in touch with the Baron’s valet.”
“He is a man named Folcker, a Swede, according to the newspapers. I dare say I could find him.”
“If you can, you will assist me very much. I must have a chat with him,” I said. “I feel somehow that in face of the strange facts within my knowledge that he can give me the clue to the cause of his master’s death.”
Graham smiled. He seemed to regard me as a person whose mind was not quite sound. But I will give him his due. He propitiated me, and promised to get into touch with Oscar Folcker. By virtue of the wide ramifications of the firm by which Graham was employed, I knew that it would be an easy matter, hence I was not surprised when next day he rang me up on the telephone to my hotel and told me that he had been able to find the valet Folcker who would call upon me at six o’clock that evening.