"It is for you to ascertain these points, M. Max," he said--"I only
suggest. But I begin to share your belief that a series of daring and
unusual assassinations has been taking place under the eyes of the
police authorities of Europe. It can only be poison--an unknown poison,
perhaps. We shall be empowered to exhume the body of the late Sir
Frank Narcombe in a few days' time, I hope. His case puzzles me
hopelessly. What obstacle did a surgeon offer to this hypothetical
Eastern movement? On the other hand, what can have been filched from
him before his death? The death of an inventor, a statesman, a soldier,
can be variously explained by your 'Yellow' hypothesis, M. Max, but
what of the death of a surgeon?"
Gaston Max shrugged, and his mobile mouth softened in a quaint smile.
"We have learned a little," he said, "and guessed a lot. Let us hope
to guess more--and learn everything!"
"May I suggest," added Dunbar, "that we hear Sowerby's report, sir?"
"Certainly," agreed the Assistant Commissioner--"call Sergeant
Sowerby."
A moment later Sergeant Sowerby entered, his face very red and his
hair bristling more persistently than usual.
"Anything to report, Sowerby?" asked Dunbar.
"Yes, Inspector," replied Sowerby, in his Police Court manner;--he
faced the Assistant Commissioner, "with your permission, sir."
He took out a note-book which appeared to be the twin of Dunbar's and
consulted it, assuming an expression of profound reflection.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157