“That’s a lie!” he declared vehemently. “Forgive me for saying so, but I can only think that you are not quite in your right mind.”
“I have not been in my right mind for a month or more—thanks to your deep plotting,” I retorted sharply. “Further, I am telling the truth—as I shall later on tell it before a court of law. I intend to solve the mystery of the death of Gabrielle Engledue.”
“Well—I will not hinder you,” he laughed grimly.
“You mean that you will not assist me?”
“I mean that I have no knowledge of any such person; nor have I any knowledge of you,” he said. “A perfect stranger, you come here, present your card, and at once start a series of most serious allegations against me, the chief of them being that I gave you five thousand pounds for some assistance which you refuse to describe.”
“If I tell you, you will only deny it, Mr. De Gex,” I exclaimed bitterly. “So what is the use?”
“None. In fact I don’t see that any object is to be gained in prolonging this interview,” was his quick retort. “If, as you say, I gave you five thousand—which I certainly never did—then what more can you want? I however, suspect that the five thousand exists only in your own imagination.”
“But I have the sum intact—in a drawer at my home in London.”
“It would be of interest to see it. Are they the same notes which you say I gave you?”
“The same,” I answered, and then I went on to tell him how I had awakened to find myself in St. Malo, and how the French police had taken possession of the money found upon me.