Part 7 (1/2)

”I can only conclude,” he said, turning to the detective, ”that you have made some absurd blunder. If you really possess the warrants you speak of, however, Colonel d.i.c.kinson and I will accompany you wherever you choose.”

Then the door opened and Peter Ruff walked in, followed by Job Masters, whose head was still bandaged, and who seemed to have lost a little flesh and a lot of colour. Peter Ruff looked round apologetically. He seemed surprised not to find Sir Richard Dyson and Colonel d.i.c.kinson alone. He seemed more than ever surprised to recognize Dory.

”I trust,” he said smoothly, ”that our visit is not inopportune. Sir Richard Dyson, I believe?” he continued, bowing--”my friend, Mr. Masters here, has consulted me as to the loss of a betting book, and we ventured to call to ask you, sir, if by any chance on his recent visit to your house--”

”G.o.d in Heaven, it's Masters!” Dyson exclaimed. ”It's Job Masters!”

”That's me, sir,” Masters admitted. ”Mr. Ruff thought you might be able to help me find that book.”

Sir Richard swayed upon his feet. Then the blood rushed once more through his veins.

”Your book's here in my cabinet, safe enough,” he said. ”You left it here after our luncheon that day. Where on earth have you been to, man?”

he continued. ”We want some money from you over Myopia.”

”I'll pay all right, sir,” Masters answered. ”Fact is, after our luncheon party I'm afraid I got a bit fuddled. I don't seem to remember much.”

He sat down a little heavily. Peter Ruff hastened to the table and took up a gla.s.s.

”You will excuse me if I give him a little brandy, won't you, sir?”

he said. ”He's really not quite fit for getting about yet, but he was worrying about his book.”

”Give him all the brandy he can drink,” Sir Richard answered.

The detective's face had been a study. He knew Masters well enough by sight--there was no doubt about his ident.i.ty! His teeth came together with an angry little click. He had made a mistake! It was a thing which would be remembered against him forever! It was as bad as his failure to arrest that young man at Daisy Villa.

”Your visit, Masters,” Sir Richard said, with a curious smile at the corners of his lips, ”is, in some respects, a little opportune. About that little matter we were speaking of,” he continued, turning towards the detective.

”We have only to offer you our apologies, Sir Richard,” Dory answered.

Then he crossed the room and confronted Peter Ruff.

”Do I understand, sir, that your name is Ruff--Peter Ruff?” he asked.

”That is my name, sir,” Peter Ruff admitted, pleasantly ”Yours I believe, is Dory. We are likely to come across one another now and then, I suppose. Glad to know you.”

The detective stood quite still, and there was no geniality in his face.

”I wonder--have we ever met before?” he asked, without removing his eyes from the other's face. Peter Ruff smiled.

”Not professionally, at any rate,” he answered. ”I know that Scotland Yard you don't think much of us small fry, but we find out things sometimes!”

”Why didn't you contradict all those rumours as to his disappearance?”

the detective asked, pointing to where Job Masters was contentedly sipping his brandy and water.

”I was acting for my client, and in my own interests,” replied Peter.

”It was surely no part of my duty to save you gentlemen at Scotland Yard from hunting up mare's nests!”