“I am all attention,” said Dudley, interested to hear something from this gatherer of the secrets of the nation. “If I can give you any assistance I shall be most ready to do so.”
“Then let me put a question to you, which please answer truthfully, for much depends upon it,” he said slowly, his eyes fixed upon the man before him as he pensively twisted his moustache. “Were you ever acquainted with a man named Lennox?”
The words fell upon Dudley Chisholm like a thunderclap. Yes, the blow had fallen! He started, then, gripping the arms of the chair, sat upright and motionless as a statue, his face blanched to the lips. He knew that the ghastly truth, so long concealed that he had believed the matter forgotten, was out. Ruin stood before him. His secret was known.
Chapter Nineteen.
A Man of Secrets Speaks.
Archibald Cator’s bony face was grave, serious, sphinx-like. His personality was strange and striking.
He had detected in an instant the sudden alarm which his question had aroused within the mind of the man before him, but, pretending not to observe it, he added with a pleasant air:
“You will, of course, forgive anything which may appear to be an impertinent cross-examination, Mr Chisholm. Both of us are alike working in the interests of our country, and certain facts which I have recently unearthed are, to say the least, extremely curious. They even constitute a great danger. Do you happen to remember any one among your acquaintances named Lennox—Major Mayne Lennox?”