The two men exchanged glances, and in an instant a fierce resentment arose within me. Between us, upon the bare table, lay the gold chatelaine that I had bought at Bouet’s, in the Gallerie at Monte Carlo a year and a half ago.
It had been found in that tunnel on the main line of the Great Northern. Something tragic had occurred. Was there any further room for doubt?
“The matter does not concern a woman’s honour—er—not exactly so,” the man in khaki said slowly.
“I want to know—” And he paused, as though hesitating to explain his motive for coming along to see me.
“What do you want to know about?” I asked boldly. “Come, Captain Pollock, let us face each other. There is a mystery here in Miss Lethmere’s disappearance, and in the finding of this bunch of feminine fripperies in the tunnel. I intend to elucidate it.”
“And I will assist you, Mr Munro—if you will only be frank with me.”
“Frank!” I echoed. “Of course I’ll be frank!” Again he looked me straight in the face with those funny, half-closed little eyes of his. Then, after a few moments’ pause, he asked:
“Now—tell me. Is it a fact that you, with a friend of yours named Ashton, have made some very remarkable electrical discovery?”
I looked at him, stunned by surprise. He noticed my abject astonishment.
“I’ll go farther,” he went on. “Does this discovery of yours concern aircraft; is it designed to bring disaster upon Zeppelins; and are you engaged in perfecting a secret invention in which you have the most entire confidence? In other words, have you nearly perfected a method by which you will be able to successfully combat enemy airships in the air? Tell me the truth, Mr Munro—in strictest secrecy, remember.”