“I have, I regret, not the pleasure of your acquaintance,” was my quick answer, somewhat surprised at his declaration.
“That woman has betrayed us—that woman, Sybil Burnet,” he cried angrily, his eyes flashing at us. “She shall pay for this—by heaven, she shall! She defied me, but I have not yet said my last word. Arrest me to-day, and to-morrow she will be arrested also,” he laughed, triumphantly.
“My name’s Ralph Vickers—if you must know,” he said to Pickering in reply to a question.
“And you’re just back from Germany—eh? Arrived by the night mail via the Hook of Holland.”
“Well, what of that?”
“And you’ve been to Germany to dispose of stolen property, and this money is the price you received for it. Am I not correct?”
“Find out,” was the smooth-haired young man’s insulting response.
“Take him to the station, Edwards, and ask Inspector Nicholls to step round here with two plain-clothes men. I’ll wait for him. Search the prisoner, and I’ll charge him—when I come round.”
And the young man, without a word, was conducted down the stairs. Then the inspector began counting the German notes rapidly, taking a note of the number in each of the packets secured by pins.
“We’ve done a good night’s work, I think, Mr Hughes,” he said afterwards, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “Thanks to you we’re on the track of one of the biggest criminal conspiracies that London has known for years. But,” he added, “who’s the woman that fellow mentioned—Sybil Burnet? He seems to know something against her—alleges that she’s also a member of the gang. I think we’d better arrest her, or in any case keep her under observation, for the instant she hears of the arrests she’ll, of course, fly.”