The Clue of the Twisted Candle

  CHAPTER VIII

  Two years after the events just described, T. X. journeying up to Londonfrom Bath was attracted by a paragraph in the Morning Post. It told himbriefly that Mr. Remington Kara, the influential leader of the GreekColony, had been the guest of honor at a dinner of the Hellenic Society.

  T. X. had only seen Kara for a brief space of time following thattragic morning, when he had discovered not only that his best friend hadescaped from Dartmoor prison and disappeared, as it were, from the worldat a moment when his pardon had been signed, but that that friend's wifehad also vanished from the face of the earth.

  At the same time--it might, as even T. X. admitted, have been theveriest coincidence that Kara had also cleared out of London to reappearat the end of six months. Any question addressed to him, concerning thewhereabouts of the two unhappy people, was met with a bland expressionof ignorance as to their whereabouts.

  John Lexman was somewhere in the world, hiding as he believed fromjustice, and with him was his wife. T. X. had no doubt in his mind as tothis solution of the puzzle. He had caused to be published the storyof the pardon and the circumstances under which that pardon had beensecured, and he had, moreover, arranged for an advertisement to beinserted in the principal papers of every European country.

  It was a moot question amongst the departmental lawyers as to whetherJohn Lexman was not guilty of a technical and punishable offence forprison breaking, but this possibility did not keep T. X. awake atnights. The circumstances of the escape had been carefully examined. Thewarder responsible had been discharged from the service, and had almostimmediately purchased for himself a beer house in Falmouth, for a sumwhich left no doubt in the official mind that he had been the recipientof a heavy bribe.

  Who had been the guiding spirit in that escape--Mrs. Lexman, or Kara?

  It was impossible to connect Kara with the event. The motor car hadbeen traced to Exeter, where it had been hired by a "foreign-lookinggentleman," but the chauffeur, whoever he was, had made good hisescape. An inspection of Kara's hangars at Wembley showed that his twomonoplanes had not been removed, and T. X. failed entirely to tracethe owner of the machine he had seen flying over Dartmoor on the fatalmorning.

  T. X. was somewhat baffled and a little amused by the disinclinationof the authorities to believe that the escape had been effected bythis method at all. All the events of the trial came back to him, as hewatched the landscape spinning past.

  He set down the newspaper with a little sigh, put his feet on thecushions of the opposite seat and gave himself up to reverie. Presentlyhe returned to his journals and searched them idly for somethingto interest him in the final stretch of journey between Newbury andPaddington.

  Presently he found it in a two column article with the uninspiringtitle, "The Mineral Wealth of Tierra del Fuego." It was writtenbrightly with a style which was at once easy and informative. It told ofadventures in the marshes behind St. Sebastian Bay and journeys up theGuarez Celman river, of nights spent in primeval forests and ended ina geological survey, wherein the commercial value of syenite, porphyry,trachite and dialite were severally canvassed.

  The article was signed "G. G." It is said of T. X. that his greatestvirtue was his curiosity. He had at the tip of his fingers the namesof all the big explorers and author-travellers, and for some reason hecould not place "G. G." to his satisfaction, in fact he had an absurddesire to interpret the initials into "George Grossmith." His inabilityto identify the writer irritated him, and his first act on reaching hisoffice was to telephone to one of the literary editors of the Times whomhe knew.

  "Not my department," was the chilly reply, "and besides we never giveaway the names of our contributors. Speaking as a person outside theoffice I should say that 'G. G.' was 'George Gathercole' the exploreryou know, the fellow who had an arm chewed off by a lion or something."

  "George Gathercole!" repeated T. X. "What an ass I am."

  "Yes," said the voice at the other end the wire, and he had rung offbefore T. X. could think of something suitable to say.

  Having elucidated this little side-line of mystery, the matter passedfrom the young Commissioner's mind. It happened that morning that hiswork consisted of dealing with John Lexman's estate.

  With the disappearance of the couple he had taken over control oftheir belongings. It had not embarrassed him to discover that he was anexecutor under Lexman's will, for he had already acted as trustee to thewife's small estate, and had been one of the parties to the ante-nuptialcontract which John Lexman had made before his marriage.

  The estate revenues had increased very considerably. All the vanishedauthor's books were selling as they had never sold before, and theexecutor's work was made the heavier by the fact that Grace Lexmanhad possessed an aunt who had most inconsiderately died, leaving aconsiderable fortune to her "unhappy niece."

  "I will keep the trusteeship another year," he told the solicitor whocame to consult him that morning. "At the end of that time I shall go tothe court for relief."

  "Do you think they will ever turn up?" asked the solicitor, an elderlyand unimaginative man.

  "Of course, they'll turn up!" said T. X. impatiently; "all the heroes ofLexman's books turn up sooner or later. He will discover himself to usat a suitable moment, and we shall be properly thrilled."

  That Lexman would return he was sure. It was a faith from which he didnot swerve.

  He had as implicit a confidence that one day or other Kara, themagnificent, would play into his hands.

  There were some queer stories in circulation concerning the Greek,but on the whole they were stories and rumours which were difficult toseparate from the malicious gossip which invariably attaches itself tothe rich and to the successful.

  One of these was that Kara desired something more than an Albanianchieftainship, which he undoubtedly enjoyed. There were whispers ofwider and higher ambitions. Though his father had been born a Greek, hehad indubitably descended in a direct line from one of those old Mpretsof Albania, who had exercised their brief authority over that turbulentland.

  The man's passion was for power. To this end he did not spare himself.It was said that he utilized his vast wealth for this reason, and noneother, and that whatever might have been the irregularities of hisyouth--and there were adduced concrete instances--he was working towardan end with a singleness of purpose, from which it was difficult towithhold admiration.

  T. X. kept in his locked desk a little red book, steel bound and triplelocked, which he called his "Scandalaria." In this he inscribed in hisown irregular writing the titbits which might not be published, andwhich often helped an investigator to light upon the missing threadsof a problem. In truth he scorned no source of information, and wasconscienceless in the compilation of this somewhat chaotic record.

  The affairs of John Lexman recalled Kara, and Kara's great reception.Mansus would have made arrangements to secure a verbatim report of thespeeches which were made, and these would be in his hands by the night.Mansus did not tell him that Kara was financing some very influentialpeople indeed, that a certain Under-secretary of State with a greatnumber of very influential relations had been saved from bankruptcy bythe timely advances which Kara had made. This T. X. had obtained throughsources which might be hastily described as discreditable. Mansus knewof the baccarat establishment in Albemarle Street, but he did not knowthat the neurotic wife of a very great man indeed, no less than theMinister of Justice, was a frequent visitor to that establishment, andthat she had lost in one night some 6,000 pounds. In these circumstancesit was remarkable, thought T. X., that she should report to the policeso small a matter as the petty pilfering of servants. This, however,she had done and whilst the lesser officers of Scotland Yard wereinterrogating pawnbrokers, the men higher up were genuinely worried bythe lady's own lapses from grace.

  It was all sordid but, unfortunately, conventional, because highlyplaced people will always do underbred things, where money or womenare concerned, but it was necessary, for the proper conduct of
thedepartment which T. X. directed, that, however sordid and howeverconventional might be the errors which the great ones of the earthcommitted, they should be filed for reference.

  The motto which T. X. went upon in life was, "You never know."

  The Minister of Justice was a very important person, for he was apersonal friend of half the monarchs of Europe. A poor man, with two orthree thousand a year of his own, with no very definite politicalviews and uncommitted to the more violent policies of either party, hesucceeded in serving both, with profit to himself, and without earningthe obloquy of either. Though he did not pursue the blatant policyof the Vicar of Bray, yet it is fact which may be confirmed fromthe reader's own knowledge, that he served in four differentadministrations, drawing the pay and emoluments of his office from each,though the fundamental policies of those four governments were distinct.

  Lady Bartholomew, the wife of this adaptable Minister, had recentlydeparted for San Remo. The newspapers announced the fact and spokevaguely of a breakdown which prevented the lady from fulfilling hersocial engagements.

  T. X., ever a Doubting Thomas, could trace no visit of nerve specialist,nor yet of the family practitioner, to the official residence in DowningStreet, and therefore he drew conclusions. In his own "Who's Who" T.X. noted the hobbies of his victims which, by the way, did not alwayscoincide with the innocent occupations set against their names in themore pretentious volume. Their follies and their weaknesses found aplace and were recorded at a length (as it might seem to the uninformedobserver) beyond the limit which charity allowed.

  Lady Mary Bartholomew's name appeared not once, but many times, in theerratic records which T. X. kept. There was a plain matter-of-fact andwholly unobjectionable statement that she was born in 1874, that she wasthe seventh daughter of the Earl of Balmorey, that she had one daughterwho rejoiced in the somewhat unpromising name of Belinda Mary, and suchfurther information as a man might get without going to a great deal oftrouble.

  T. X., refreshing his memory from the little red book, wondered whatunexpected tragedy had sent Lady Bartholomew out of London in the middleof the season. The information was that the lady was fairly well off atthis moment, and this fact made matters all the more puzzling andalmost induced him to believe that, after all, the story was true, and anervous breakdown really was the cause of her sudden departure. He sentfor Mansus.

  "You saw Lady Bartholomew off at Charing Cross, I suppose?"

  Mansus nodded.

  "She went alone?"

  "She took her maid, but otherwise she was alone. I thought she lookedill."

  "She has been looking ill for months past," said T. X., without anyvisible expression of sympathy.

  "Did she take Belinda Mary?"

  Mansus was puzzled. "Belinda Mary?" he repeated slowly. "Oh, you meanthe daughter. No, she's at a school somewhere in France."

  T. X. whistled a snatch of a popular song, closed the little red bookwith a snap and replaced it in his desk.

  "I wonder where on earth people dig up names like Belinda Mary?" hemused. "Belinda Mary must be rather a weird little animal--the Lordforgive me for speaking so about my betters! If heredity counts foranything she ought to be something between a head waiter and a pack ofcards. Have you lost anything'?"

  Mansus was searching his pockets.

  "I made a few notes, some questions I wanted to ask you about andLady Bartholomew was the subject of one of them. I have had her underobservation for six months; do you want it kept up?"

  T. X. thought awhile, then shook his head.

  "I am only interested in Lady Bartholomew in so far as Kara isinterested in her. There is a criminal for you, my friend!" he added,admiringly.

  Mansus busily engaged in going through the bundles of letters, slipsof paper and little notebooks he had taken from his pocket, sniffedaudibly.

  "Have you a cold?" asked T. X. politely.

  "No, sir," was the reply, "only I haven't much opinion of Kara as acriminal. Besides, what has he got to be a criminal about? He has allthat he requires in the money department, he's one of the most popularpeople in London, and certainly one of the best-looking men I've everseen in my life. He needs nothing."

  T. X. regarded him scornfully.

  "You're a poor blind brute," he said, shaking his head; don't you knowthat great criminals are never influenced by material desires, or bythe prospect of concrete gains? The man, who robs his employer's tillin order to give the girl of his heart the 25-pearl and ruby brooch hersoul desires, gains nothing but the glow of satisfaction which comes tothe man who is thought well of. The majority of crimes in the world arecommitted by people for the same reason--they want to be thought wellof. Here is Doctor X. who murdered his wife because she was a drunkardand a slut, and he dared not leave her for fear the neighbours wouldhave doubts as to his respectability. Here is another gentleman whomurders his wives in their baths in order that he should keep up somesort of position and earn the respect of his friends and his associates.Nothing roused him more quickly to a frenzy of passion than thesuggestion that he was not respectable. Here is the great financier, whohas embezzled a million and a quarter, not because he needed money,but because people looked up to him. Therefore, he must buildgreat mansions, submarine pleasure courts and must lay out hugeestates--because he wished that he should be thought well of.

  Mansus sniffed again.

  "What about the man who half murders his wife, does he do that to bewell thought of?" he asked, with a tinge of sarcasm.

  T. X. looked at him pityingly.

  "The low-brow who beats his wife, my poor Mansus," he said, "does sobecause she doesn't think well of him. That is our ruling passion,our national characteristic, the primary cause of most crimes, big orlittle. That is why Kara is a bad criminal and will, as I say, end hislife very violently."

  He took down his glossy silk hat from the peg and slipped into hisovercoat.

  "I am going down to see my friend Kara," he said. "I have a feeling thatI should like to talk with him. He might tell me something."

  His acquaintance with Kara's menage had been mere hearsay. He hadinterviewed the Greek once after his return, but since all his effortsto secure information concerning the whereabouts of John Lexman andhis wife--the main reason for his visit--had been in vain, he had notrepeated his visit.

  The house in Cadogan Square was a large one, occupying a corner site. Itwas peculiarly English in appearance with its window boxes, its discreetcurtains, its polished brass and enamelled doorway. It had been thetown house of Lord Henry Gratham, that eccentric connoisseur of wine andfollower of witless pleasure. It had been built by him "round abottle of port," as his friends said, meaning thereby that his firstconsideration had been the cellarage of the house, and that when thosecellars had been built and provision made for the safe storage of hispriceless wines, the house had been built without the architect's beinggreatly troubled by his lordship. The double cellars of Gratham Househad, in their time, been one of the sights of London. When Henry Grathamlay under eight feet of Congo earth (he was killed by an elephantwhilst on a hunting trip) his executors had been singularly fortunatein finding an immediate purchaser. Rumour had it that Kara, who wasno lover of wine, had bricked up the cellars, and their very existencepassed into domestic legendary.

  The door was opened by a well-dressed and deferential man-servant andT. X. was ushered into the hall. A fire burnt cheerily in a bronze grateand T. X. had a glimpse of a big oil painting of Kara above the marblemantle-piece.

  "Mr. Kara is very busy, sir," said the man.

  "Just take in my card," said T. X. "I think he may care to see me."

  The man bowed, produced from some mysterious corner a silver salverand glided upstairs in that manner which well-trained servants have,a manner which seems to call for no bodily effort. In a minute hereturned.

  "Will you come this way, sir," he said, and led the way up a broadflight of stairs.

  At the head of the stairs was a corridor which ran to the left and tothe
right. From this there gave four rooms. One at the extreme end ofthe passage on the right, one on the left, and two at fairly regularintervals in the centre.

  When the man's hand was on one of the doors, T. X. asked quietly, "Ithink I have seen you before somewhere, my friend."

  The man smiled.

  "It is very possible, sir. I was a waiter at the Constitutional for sometime."

  T. X. nodded.

  "That is where it must have been," he said.

  The man opened the door and announced the visitor.

  T. X. found himself in a large room, very handsomely furnished, but justlacking that sense of cosiness and comfort which is the feature of theEnglishman's home.

  Kara rose from behind a big writing table, and came with a smile and aquick step to greet the visitor.

  "This is a most unexpected pleasure," he said, and shook hands warmly.

  T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change in thisstrange young man. He could not be more confident than he had been, norbear himself with a more graceful carriage. Whatever social success hehad achieved, it had not spoiled him, for his manner was as genial andeasy as ever.

  "I think that will do, Miss Holland," he said, turning to the girl who,with notebook in hand, stood by the desk.

  "Evidently," thought T. X., "our Hellenic friend has a pretty taste insecretaries."

  In that one glance he took her all in--from the bronze-brown of her hairto her neat foot.

  T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite sex. He wasself-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and its incidencetoo absorbing to give his whole mind to the serious problem of marriage,or to contract responsibilities and interests which might divert hisattention from what he believed was the greater game. Yet he must be aman of stone to resist the freshness, the beauty and the youth of thisstraight, slender girl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the alivenessand buoyancy and the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her verypresence.

  "What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?" asked Kara laughingly."I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have been discussing a beggingletter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer."

  The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thought T. X.

  "The weirdest name?" he repeated, "why I think the worst I have heardfor a long time is Belinda Mary."

  "That has a familiar ring," said Kara.

  T. X. was looking at the girl.

  She was staring at him with a certain languid insolence which made himcurl up inside. Then with a glance at her employer she swept from theroom.

  "I ought to have introduced you," said Kara. "That was my secretary,Miss Holland. Rather a pretty girl, isn't she?"

  "Very," said T. X., recovering his breath.

  "I like pretty things around me," said Kara, and somehow the complacencyof the remark annoyed the detective more than anything that Kara hadever said to him.

  The Greek went to the mantlepiece, and taking down a silver cigarettebox, opened and offered it to his visitor. Kara was wearing a greylounge suit; and although grey is a very trying colour for a foreignerto wear, this suit fitted his splendid figure and gave him just thatbulk which he needed.

  "You are a most suspicious man, Mr. Meredith," he smiled.

  "Suspicious! I?" asked the innocent T. X.

  Kara nodded.

  "I am sure you want to enquire into the character of all my presentstaff. I am perfectly satisfied that you will never be at rest until youlearn the antecedents of my cook, my valet, my secretary--"

  T. X. held up his hand with a laugh.

  "Spare me," he said. "It is one of my failings, I admit, but I havenever gone much farther into your domestic affairs than to pry into theantecedents of your very interesting chauffeur."

  A little cloud passed over Kara's face, but it was only momentary.

  "Oh, Brown," he said, airily, with just a perceptible pause between thetwo words.

  "It used to be Smith," said T. X., "but no matter. His name is reallyPoropulos."

  "Oh, Poropulos," said Kara gravely, "I dismissed him a long time ago."

  "Pensioned hire, too, I understand," said T. X.

  The other looked at him awhile, then, "I am very good to my oldservants," he said slowly and, changing the subject; "to what goodfortune do I owe this visit?"

  T. X. selected a cigarette before he replied.

  "I thought you might be of some service to me," he said, apparentlygiving his whole attention to the cigarette.

  "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," said Kara, a little eagerly."I am afraid you have not been very keen on continuing what I hopedwould have ripened into a valuable friendship, more valuable to meperhaps," he smiled, "than to you."

  "I am a very shy man," said the shameless T. X., "difficult to a fault,and rather apt to underrate my social attractions. I have come to younow because you know everybody--by the way, how long have you had yoursecretary!" he asked abruptly.

  Kara looked up at the ceiling for inspiration.

  "Four, no three months," he corrected, "a very efficient young ladywho came to me from one of the training establishments. Somewhatuncommunicative, better educated than most girls in her position--forexample, she speaks and writes modern Greek fairly well."

  "A treasure!" suggested T. X.

  "Unusually so," said Kara. "She lives in Marylebone Road, 86a is theaddress. She has no friends, spends most of her evenings in her room,is eminently respectable and a little chilling in her attitude to heremployer."

  T. X. shot a swift glance at the other.

  "Why do you tell me all this?" he asked.

  "To save you the trouble of finding out," replied the other coolly."That insatiable curiosity which is one of the equipments of yourprofession, would, I feel sure, induce you to conduct investigations foryour own satisfaction."

  T. X. laughed.

  "May I sit down?" he said.

  The other wheeled an armchair across the room and T. X. sank into it.He leant back and crossed his legs, and was, in a second, thepersonification of ease.

  "I think you are a very clever man, Monsieur Kara," he said.

  The other looked down at him this time without amusement.

  "Not so clever that I can discover the object of your visit," he saidpleasantly enough.

  "It is very simply explained," said T. X. "You know everybody in town.You know, amongst other people, Lady Bartholomew."

  "I know the lady very well indeed," said Kara, readily,--too readilyin fact, for the rapidity with which answer had followed question,suggested to T. X. that Kara had anticipated the reason for the call.

  "Have you any idea," asked T. X., speaking with deliberation, "as to whyLady Bartholomew has gone out of town at this particular moment?"

  Kara laughed.

  "What an extraordinary question to ask me--as though Lady Bartholomewconfided her plans to one who is little more than a chanceacquaintance!"

  "And yet," said T. X., contemplating the burning end of his cigarette,"you know her well enough to hold her promissory note."

  "Promissory note?" asked the other.

  His tone was one of involuntary surprise and T. X. swore softly tohimself for now he saw the faintest shade of relief in Kara's face. TheCommissioner realized that he had committed an error--he had been fartoo definite.

  "When I say promissory note," he went on easily, as though he hadnoticed nothing, "I mean, of course, the securities which the debtorinvariably gives to one from whom he or she has borrowed large sums ofmoney."

  Kara made no answer, but opening a drawer of his desk he took out a keyand brought it across to where T. X. was sitting.

  "Here is the key of my safe," he said quietly. "You are at liberty to gocarefully through its contents and discover for yourself any promissorynote which I hold from Lady Bartholomew. My dear fellow, you don'timagine I'm a moneylender, do you?" he said in an injured tone.

  "Nothing was further from my thoughts," said T. X., untrut
hfully.

  But the other pressed the key upon him.

  "I should be awfully glad if you would look for yourself," he saidearnestly. "I feel that in some way you associate Lady Bartholomew'sillness with some horrible act of usury on my part--will you satisfyyourself and in doing so satisfy me?"

  Now any ordinary man, and possibly any ordinary detective, would havemade the conventional answer. He would have protested that he had nointention of doing anything of the sort; he would have uttered, ifhe were a man in the position which T. X. occupied, the conventionalstatement that he had no authority to search the private papers, andthat he would certainly not avail himself of the other's kindness.But T. X. was not an ordinary person. He took the key and balanced itlightly in the palm of his hand.

  "Is this the key of the famous bedroom safe?" he said banteringly.

  Kara was looking down at him with a quizzical smile. "It isn't the safeyou opened in my absence, on one memorable occasion, Mr. Meredith," hesaid. "As you probably know, I have changed that safe, but perhaps youdon't feel equal to the task?"

  "On the contrary," said T. X., calmly, and rising from the chair, "I amgoing to put your good faith to the test."

  For answer Kara walked to the door and opened it.

  "Let me show you the way," he said politely.

  He passed along the corridor and entered the apartment at the end. Theroom was a large one and lighted by one big square window which wasprotected by steel bars. In the grate which was broad and high a hugefire was burning and the temperature of the room was unpleasantly closedespite the coldness of the day.

  "That is one of the eccentricities which you, as an Englishman, willnever excuse in me," said Kara.

  Near the foot of the bed, let into, and flush with, the wall, was a biggreen door of the safe.

  "Here you are, Mr. Meredith," said Kara. "All the precious secrets ofRemington Kara are yours for the seeking."

  "I am afraid I've had my trouble for nothing," said T. X., making noattempt to use the key.

  "That is an opinion which I share," said Kara, with a smile.

  "Curiously enough," said T. X. "I mean just what you mean."

  He handed the key to Kara.

  "Won't you open it?" asked the Greek.

  T. X. shook his head.

  "The safe as far as I can see is a Magnus, the key which you have beenkind enough to give me is legibly inscribed upon the handle 'Chubb.' Myexperience as a police officer has taught me that Chubb keys very rarelyopen Magnus safes."

  Kara uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

  "How stupid of me!" he said, "yet now I remember, I sent the key to mybankers, before I went out of town--I only came back this morning, youknow. I will send for it at once."

  "Pray don't trouble," murmured T. X. politely. He took from his pocketa little flat leather case and opened it. It contained a number of steelimplements of curious shape which were held in position by a leatherloop along the centre of the case. From one of these loops he extracteda handle, and deftly fitted something that looked like a steel awlto the socket in the handle. Looking in wonder, and with no littleapprehension, Kara saw that the awl was bent at the head.

  "What are you going to do?" he asked, a little alarmed.

  "I'll show you," said T. X. pleasantly.

  Very gingerly he inserted the instrument in the small keyhole and turnedit cautiously first one way and then the other. There was a sharp clickfollowed by another. He turned the handle and the door of the safe swungopen.

  "Simple, isn't it!" he asked politely.

  In that second of time Kara's face had undergone a transformation. Theeyes which met T. X. Meredith's blazed with an almost insane fury. Witha quick stride Kara placed himself before the open safe.

  "I think this has gone far enough, Mr. Meredith," he said harshly. "Ifyou wish to search my safe you must get a warrant."

  T. X. shrugged his shoulders, and carefully unscrewing the instrument hehad employed and replacing it in the case, he returned it to his insidepocket.

  "It was at your invitation, my dear Monsieur Kara," he said suavely. "Ofcourse I knew that you were putting a bluff up on me with the key andthat you had no more intention of letting me see the inside of your safethan you had of telling me exactly what happened to John Lexman."

  The shot went home.

  The face which was thrust into the Commissioner's was ridged and veinedwith passion. The lips were turned back to show the big white eventeeth, the eyes were narrowed to slits, the jaw thrust out, and almostevery semblance of humanity had vanished from his face.

  "You--you--" he hissed, and his clawing hands moved suspiciouslybackward.

  "Put up your hands," said T. X. sharply, "and be damned quick about it!"

  In a flash the hands went up, for the revolver which T. X. held waspressed uncomfortably against the third button of the Greek's waistcoat.

  "That's not the first time you've been asked to put up your hands, Ithink," said T. X. pleasantly.

  His own left hand slipped round to Kara's hip pocket. He found somethingin the shape of a cylinder and drew it out from the pocket. To hissurprise it was not a revolver, not even a knife; it looked like a smallelectric torch, though instead of a bulb and a bull's-eye glass, therewas a pepper-box perforation at one end.

  He handled it carefully and was about to press the small nickel knobwhen a strangled cry of horror broke from Kara.

  "For God's sake be careful!" he gasped. "You're pointing it at me! Donot press that lever, I beg!"

  "Will it explode!" asked T. X. curiously.

  "No, no!"

  T. X. pointed the thing downward to the carpet and pressed the knobcautiously. As he did so there was a sharp hiss and the floor wasstained with the liquid which the instrument contained. Just one gushof fluid and no more. T. X. looked down. The bright carpet had alreadychanged colour, and was smoking. The room was filled with a pungent anddisagreeable scent. T. X. looked from the floor to the white-faced man.

  "Vitriol, I believe," he said, shaking his head admiringly. "What a dearlittle fellow you are!"

  The man, big as he was, was on the point of collapse and mumbledsomething about self-defence, and listened without a word, whilst T.X., labouring under an emotion which was perfectly pardonable, describedKara, his ancestors and the possibilities of his future estate.

  Very slowly the Greek recovered his self-possession.

  "I didn't intend using it on you, I swear I didn't," he pleaded."I'm surrounded by enemies, Meredith. I had to carry some means ofprotection. It is because my enemies know I carry this that they fightshy of me. I'll swear I had no intention of using it on you. The idea istoo preposterous. I am sorry I fooled you about the safe."

  "Don't let that worry you," said T. X. "I am afraid I did all thefooling. No, I cannot let you have this back again," he said, as theGreek put out his hand to take the infernal little instrument. "I musttake this back to Scotland Yard; it's quite a long time since we hadanything new in this shape. Compressed air, I presume."

  Kara nodded solemnly.

  "Very ingenious indeed," said T. X. "If I had a brain like yours," hepaused, "I should do something with it--with a gun," he added, as hepassed out of the room.