He had evidently shown him something in the moonlight.
“Well, I don’t intend that this fellow shall pry into my affairs,” snapped the millionaire. I recognized that hard metallic voice of his, and it recalled to me all those strange happenings on that November night.
“I do not really see, if we act boldly, what we have to fear,” said the doctor in his very fair English.
We! Then they were both implicated in the plot, whatever its nature.
“Fear!” echoed De Gex. “Suppose he made some very compromising statement to the London police.”
“And in doing so he would compromise himself! He posed as a medical man, and gave the death certificate in return for payment—five thousand pounds. Beyond, he committed forgery by signing the name of Gordon Garfield. No, Mr. De Gex, I feel sure he will never court prosecution. He may busy himself in trying to solve what no doubt appears to him a complete enigma—as indeed it is to us. But he will never expose us—never!”
The millionaire grunted dubiously.
“Well, what are we to do now? What do you suggest, Moroni? Your brain is always so fertile where crooked business is concerned.”
“I have no suggestion. I came here to learn yours.”