“As he paid Despujol—eh?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” replied Rivero. “I will note your replies. De Gex is expecting you to call upon him to-day, is he not?”
“Yes. At one o’clock. I was to receive some money,” he laughed grimly.
The Spaniard having been taken away in a taxi to Bow Street Police Station, together with his luggage, we went on to Stretton Street.
“Mr. De Gex is not in,” replied the man-servant who appeared in answer to my ring.
“Never mind,” I said. “My friends and I have some business with him.” And I walked into that big familiar hall, followed by Superintendent Fletcher, Señor Rivero, and two detectives.
“We have a meeting here,” I explained casually to the smart man-servant who in surprise at our sudden entry showed us to the library, that same room in which I remembered sitting on that fateful November night.
It was nearly a year ago since I had last been in that big, handsomely furnished apartment. I did not remain there, for it was my intention to greet my would-be murderer on his return. Therefore I went to the hall and there awaited him.
Just before one o’clock he entered with his latchkey, and he having closed the door I stepped forward in his path.