Part 25 (1/2)
”Don't you believe it, don't you believe it, my poor man,” said the other, ”you--”
At that moment there came from Kara's room a faint ”clang.”
”What's that?” asked the visitor a little startled.
”Mr. Kara's put down his steel latch,” said Fisher with a smile, ”which means that he is not to be disturbed until--” he looked at his watch, ”until eleven o'clock at any rate.”
”He's a funk!” snapped the other, ”a beastly funk!”
He stamped down the stairs as though testing the weight of every tread, opened the front door without a.s.sistance, slammed it behind him and disappeared into the night.
Fisher, his hands in his pockets, looked after the departing stranger, nodding his head in reprobation.
”You're a queer old devil,” he said, and looked at his watch again.
It wanted five minutes to ten.
CHAPTER XIII
”IF you would care to come in, sir, I'm sure Lexman would be glad to see you,” said T. X.; ”it's very kind of you to take an interest in the matter.”
The Chief Commissioner of Police growled something about being paid to take an interest in everybody and strolled with T. X. down one of the apparently endless corridors of Scotland Yard.
”You won't have any bother about the pardon,” he said. ”I was dining to-night with old man Bartholomew and he will fix that up in the morning.”
”There will be no necessity to detain Lexman in custody?” asked T. X.
The Chief shook his head.
”None whatever,” he said.
There was a pause, then,
”By the way, did Bartholomew mention Belinda Mary!”
The white-haired chief looked round in astonishment.
”And who the devil is Belinda Mary?” he asked.
T. X. went red.
”Belinda Mary,” he said a little quickly, ”is Bartholomew's daughter.”
”By Jove,” said the Commissioner, ”now you mention it, he did--she is still in France.”
”Oh, is she?” said T. X. innocently, and in his heart of hearts he wished most fervently that she was. They came to the room which Mansus occupied and found that admirable man waiting.
Wherever policemen meet, their conversation naturally drifts to ”shop”