“What is wrong with you?” asked Frank kindly.

  “I’ve come to bid you farewell, my friend. I’m going to shoot myself.”

  “Have you gone mad?”

  “Not in the least,” answered Ralph, touching his forehead in a distracted manner. “Those infernal debt notes have turned up.”

  “How? Where?”

  “I was in the dining room, treated the old man to my company, when the butler whispered in my ear that there was a man outside, who wished to see me. I went out and found a dirty-looking old scamp.”

  “Was it the Weasel?” exclaimed Frank.

  “What? Was that his name? Well, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit. He told me in a very friendly tone of voice that the holder of my debts had decided to go to the police tomorrow at twelve o’clock.”

  “No! That’s the end.”

  “He told me that there was still a way for me to escape.”

  “Whish was?”

  “To take Mrs. Delaford out of England with me.”

  Frank was overwhelmed with surprise.

  He said, “So that is the conclusion of their plan, which they began by inducing you to forge Jeff Lett’s signature. Well, what did you say?”

  “That the idea was ridiculous and that I wouldn’t move a yard. They will find out that I can be quite obstinate, if I wish. Besides, I see their little game. As soon as I’m out of the way they will go to the old man and bleed him.”

  The doctor was no longer listening to him. He was racking his brain trying to find what was best to be done.

  “I can’t advise him to leave the island and take Mrs. Delaford with him. This would deprive me of a means to victory and I obviously can’t allow him to kill himself.”

  He grabbed the young man’s shoulders.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “I have an idea, which I will tell you as soon as we’re out of this place. It’s necessary for me to leave without going through the door. Go out and wait for me at the corner of the street, in front of the pharmacy. I will slip out and join you.”

  The plan succeeded and ten minutes later Ralph and Frank were walking along the streets.

  Baron St. Ives lived in a fine apartment on Wells Street near the church of Our Lady. The suite of rooms cost him six thousand shilling every year in rental. In his rooms he had gathered together the relics of his former hedonistic glory to dazzle the eyes of the superficial observer. The apartment and the furniture were in the name of his charwoman. His luxury car was supposed to be the property of his chauffeur. Even in the midst of his financial ruin the baron couldn’t move around London by underground like common people.

  The baron had two servants in his luxury apartment. There was the chauffeur, who did a certain amount of the indoor cleaning work and a valet, who knew just enough to make coffee and cook an omelet for breakfast. Joseph Kennan had seen this so called valet once and the man had produced an unpleasant impression on the astute proprietor of an insurance brokerage firm. He had set every means at work to discover who this man was and from where he came. St. Ives had told him that he had taken him in his service on the recommendation of a certain Mrs. Diss. The woman was married to a famous scientist and had resided in Scotland for many years, because she spoke that language with tolerable fluency. Frank knew nothing of these details, but he had heard of the existence of the valet from Mr. Poiret.

  At eight o’clock the next morning Frank took up his position in a small pub not far from the apartment of St. Ives. He had done this on purpose, because he knew the customs of London society and knew that this was the hour usually used by domestics in the more fashionable boroughs to come out for a gossip and a cup of tea while their masters were still in bed.

  Frank felt confident, because he had succeeded in persuading Ralph to return to his father’s house. He had gone with him and though it was two in the morning, he had not hesitated to bother Mr. Greenstreet senior, who had just come home after a performance and a late night meal. The doctor informed him how his son had been induced to commit forgery and how he threatened to atone for his crime by committing suicide.

  The poor singer was much moved.

  “Tell him to come to me at once,” he said, waving his arms, “and let him know that I will save him.”

  Ralph was waiting in another room in an agony of suspense. As soon as he appeared in the big man’s presence he fell on his knees and promised to change his errant ways for the future.

  “I don’t believe,” said old Greenstreet, “that these miscreants will dare to carry out their threats and place the matter in the hands of the police. But I will show them what a Greenstreet does with blackmailers. I will file a complaint against the London Loan Bank before the hour of lunch tomorrow and we will see how a bank is dealt with that urges its clients to forge signatures as security. The public scrutiny of a court case will shake them up a little, what you say? I will send my son to Paris by the first train this morning, so as not to be brought in by the police.”

  Frank had stayed at Greenstreet’s house, until seven in the morning. The future suddenly seemed to look bright to him as he walked hurriedly to Wells Street. The pub in which he had taken up his position was very adapted for keeping watch on St. Ives. He could see all, who came in and went out of the house and the servants in the vicinity, those of the baron included, of course, were among the punters, who came to the pub in the course of the morning. He wished to get into conversation with them, offer them a cup of coffee and perhaps, get some information from them. The establishment was large and airy and was full of customers, most of whom were servants. The doctor was racking his brains for a means of getting into conversation with the proprietor, when two men entered the room. These two men were in full livery, while all the other servants had on their own clothes. As soon as they entered, an old man, with a calm expression on his face, who was struggling with a tough piece of bacon and who was sitting at the same table as Frank, said, “Ah, there is the St. Ives’ lot.”

  “I wish they would sit here,” thought the doctor, “by the side of this old fellow, who evidently knows them. Then I could hear what they were saying.”

  By good luck they did so. They begged the landlord to bring them their breakfast at once, as they were in a hurry.

  “Easy does it, young fellows,” said the old man. “What’s the haste for? A man is allowed a peaceful meal before he commences his work, isn’t he?”

  “I have to drive the master to his office, because he has one now. He’s chairman of a diamond mine and a fine thing it is, too. If you have any money gathering dust, Mr. Young, this is your chance.”

  Mr. Young shook his head gravely.

  “All is not gold that glitters,” he said, “nor, on the other hand are things as bad as they are painted.”

  Young was evidently a prudent man and was not likely to commit himself to buying shares in the mine.

  “But if your master is going out, you, Mr. Haven, will be free and we can have a game of cards together.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir,” answered the valet.

  “What? Are you busy too?”

  “I’m afraid so, my dear fellow. I have to take a bouquet of flowers to the young lady my master is engaged to. I’ve seen the young lady. She seems to be rather agreeable.”

  The valet, a tall young man, who wore his livery stiffly, was talking of Cora and Frank could have twisted his neck with pleasure.

  “Let us hope,” said the chauffeur, as he hastily ate his breakfast, “that the baron doesn’t intend to invest his wife’s inheritance in this mine of his.”

  The men then stopped talking about their employer and began to talk about themselves. They left not ten minutes after they had arrived without saying anything further of importance, leaving Frank to reflect what a difficult business the detective business was.

  The domestics around him looked on him with distrustful eyes, because his dilapidated outfit and dirty appearance were decidedly against him and he had not yet learned the art of seeing and hearing while seeming to be doing neither and it was easy for even the thickest of punters to be certain that it was not for the sake of eating breakfast that he had come to the pub. Frank saw the effect he had produced and he became more and more embarrassed. He had finished his meal and had lit a cigar. He ordered another cup of coffee. Nearly all the domestics had left at half nine, leaving only five or six, who were playing cards at a table near the door. Frank was anxious to see St. Ives get into his car and so he lingered longer, ordering another cup of coffee and a handful of biscuits as an excuse.

  He had just been served, when a man, whose dress very much resembled his own, entered the pub. He was a tall, clumsily built fellow, with an insolent expression on his ruddy face. His coat and hat were in an equally dilapidated condition and in the squeaky voice of the rough, he ordered a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of black coffee. As he brushed past Frank, he knocked over his cup of coffee. The doctor didn’t say anything, though he felt quite sure that this act was intentional, as the man laughed impertinently, when he saw the damage that he had done. When his breakfast was served, he carelessly spilt his coffee on Frank’s boots. The insult was so apparent that Frank thought to himself, “Have I not succeeded in eluding the spies? Has this man been sent to pick a fight with me to put me out of commission?”

  Reason told him to leave the place at once, but he felt that he couldn’t leave without seeing St. Ives. There was little doubt, however what the gentleman was doing. As he cut up his bacon, he jerked every bit of skin and gristle in his neighbor’s lap.

  “Please, remember,” said Frank calmly, “that there is someone at the table besides yourself.”

  “Do you think I’m blind, mate?” answered the fellow in a cockney accent. “Mind your own business, or...” To conclude his sentence, he shook his fist in the doctor’s face.

  Frank sprang to his feet and with one blow in the chest, he sent the rudie rolling under the table.

  At the sound of the scuffle, the card-players turned around and saw Frank standing erect, with shaking lips and eyes flashing with anger, while his opponent was lying on the floor among the overturned chairs.

  “Come, come! No fighting here!” said one of the older players.

  The man scrambled to his feet and made a savage rush at the doctor, who, using his right foot skillfully tripped his antagonist up and sent him again rolling over the floor. It was masterfully done and secured the applause of the onlookers, who now complained no longer and were evidently interested in what was happening.

  Some tables, a stool and a glass were broken and at last the proprietor came out of the kitchen.

  “Get out of here,” he cried, “and make sure I don’t see your faces here again.”

  At these words, the rudie burst out in a torrent of curses.

  “Don’t put up with his cheek,” said one of the customers. “Call the police.”

  Hardly had he said that, then, as if by magic, four of them appeared on the scene and Frank soon found himself walking down the street between a couple, while his antagonist followed in the safe custody of two more. To have attempted any resistance would have been complete folly and the young man resigned himself to what he felt he couldn’t help. But in the police car, he reflected on the strange situation. It had happened so fast that he could hardly remember the events leading up to his present predicament. He was quite sure that the unprovoked assault had a reason unknown to him at that time.

  The police drove their prisoners to a house he recognized immediately. It was the building in which his distant aunt, Mrs. Diss and detective Jules Poiret resided. The whole party entered Poiret’s very clean and organized office, where a clerk was at work. The ruffian, who had assaulted Frank changed his attitude immediately and now seemed to take charge of the four policemen.

  “Alright, lads,” he ordered, “you can go back to the station. Well done.”

  He threw his tattered hat on a chair, passed his fingers through his hair and asked the clerk, where Mr. Poiret was. The clerk stood up and went into an office after quietly knocking on the door.

  “Permit me, sir,” the man said to Frank, “to compliment you on being so handy with your fists. You precious nearly did for me, I can tell you that.”

  At that moment the door of the office opened and a voice was heard to say softly, “Please to come in, mes amis.”

  Frank and his late antagonist entered the office. It was as neat as the other rooms and not a speck was out of place. At a desk near the window was seated a man, with a rather huge frame, wearing a white necktie and a pair of gold glasses. He stood up and shook their hands.

  “Mes amis, please to take the seat,” said this gentleman, addressing them both.

  Frank took a chair, half perplexed by the strangeness of the whole affair and waited. He was not sure if he was awake or was dreaming. It was hard to tell.

  “Before Poiret, he says anything,” said the rotund gentleman, “Poiret, he wishes to apologize for the proceeding, which it is, how do you say, a little rough, perhaps. It was, however, necessary for Poiret to make use of it to obtain this interview with the both of you. Poiret, he had not the choice. You are watched very closely, mon ami, and Poiret, he did not wish the persons, who have set their spies on you to have any knowledge of this meeting.”

  “Who is this gentleman?” asked Frank, nodding at the other man.

  “Mon Dieu!” Poiret sprang up from his chair. “Please to forgive Poiret for the unforgivable oversight. Monsieur le Docteur, this gentleman is Inspector Watkins of Scotland Yard.”

  The two gentlemen stood up and shook hands.

  Poiret continued, “As Poiret, he has said before, you were followed and therefore he had to take the measures extraordinary. Are you surprised at this?”

  “Yes,” said Frank, looking rather sad, “because I thought...”

  The gentleman’s features softened in a benevolent smile.

  “You thought,” he said, “that you had succeeded in throwing them off the scent. So Poiret, he had imagined this morning, when he saw you in your disguise. But permit to Poiret, my dear Monsieur, to assure you that there is room for the improvement. The first attempt, it must always be looked on leniently, but it did not deceive the spies.”

  He sprang up from his seat and came closer to Frank.

  “Why would you,” he asked, “tear the clothes apart, which makes you look like the beggar, while at the same time you are spending the money like the drunken sailor?”

  As soon as he had finished Frank understood he was no match for the detective.

  “Do you, mon ami,” said Poiret, “see the futility of your attempts?” Poiret smiled kindly. “Poiret he wishes to speak to you, so he asks Inspector Watkins to pick the argument with you and to bring you here, without the spies being at all the wiser.”

  The detective had resumed his seat and offered both of them a cigarette, which both accepted gratefully.

  “Et maintenant,” he continued, “we will, if you please, have the little talk together. As you know, Poiret was told by his neighbor, Mrs. Diss that she knows no one so high-minded and amiable as yourself. She declared to me that your honor, it is without the stains and your courage, it is undoubted.”

  “Ah! My dear sir!” interposed the doctor, with a deep blush.

  “Please to let Poiret go on. Monsieur Greenstreet, the great singer of the opera, he says that he would trust you with all his wealth, which it is considerable and the respected Dr. Yoder, he tells to Poiret that you will one day occupy the very high place in the medical profession.”

  Frank looked more bewildered than ever. The gentleman smiled as the introduction was not so much meant for him or the doctor, but for the inspector, on whose aid he would rely in the future.

  “My introduction, it ends here, because the means of inquiry in possession by the police are, of course, very limited.” Inspector Watkins scowled. “N’est-ce pas, mon ami?” Poiret looked at the inspector with a twinkle in his eyes. “They can only act on the facts, not the intentions and so long as these are not displayed in open acts, the minds of the police, they are tied. The psychology, mon ami, it is not their forte or taste.”

  He stopped and cast a keen glance on Frank. The doctor fidgeted uneasily in his chair beneath the spell of those magnetic glasses, which seemed to draw the truth from him.

  “You will permit me, no? Well, then, I must speak. You wish to prevent the marriage between Mademoiselle Cora Bletchley and this ruined spendthrift Monsieur St. Ives. It’s perfectly plain to all that she is to marry under the pressure of some kind and that means that a terrible secret exists with which St. Ives threatens them.”

  Frank colored crimson and looked at the inspector with a frightful expression in his eyes.

  “Your deduction is wrong, sir,” exclaimed Frank Defoe eagerly, “and you’re quite wrong.”

  “Bien,” was the calm reply. “Poiret, he has no want for further proofs. Mr. Bletchley, he paid to you a visit yesterday and one of the policemen in plain clothes, he says his face, it was much happier on leaving you than, when he was on his way to your house. Poiret, he therefore infers that you promised to release him from St. Ives’s blackmail and in return he has promised to you the hand in marriage of his sister, Mademoiselle Cora Bletchley.”

  The doctor didn’t want to lie to the detective and therefore kept silent.

  “The secret,” continued the little man, watching Frank glance at the inspector with eyes filled with helpless agony, “how about the secret? Did the count tell it to you? Poiret, he does not know it and yet if he strained himself and searched for it, he would find it. Poiret, he can call to mind crimes, which a generation of London policemen, they are still trying to solve. Do you know that St. Ives, he had the older brother named Thomas, who has disappeared? What has become of him? This Thomas, he was the intimate friend of Countess Bletchley. Might not his disappearance have something to do with this marriage, forced on the young woman?”

  “Are you the Deuce himself?” cried the young man.

  “Moi, je m’appelle Poiret.”