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hereby. This man of mystery and intrigue was, I felt, there in Madrid with some malice aforethought. The very fact that he feared to be recognized was in itself sufficient proof! On the other hand, Suzor now went out in the daytime, going hither and thither as though transacting business for his friend. Hambledon had reported to me how he had sent three cipher telegrams by wireless from the Correo Central in the Calle Carretas, the first was to London, the second on the following noon to an address in Paris, and the third at one o'clock in the morning to Moroni in Florence. The message to the latter was in figures, groups of five numerals as used by the British Admiralty. Besides, he had also posted several letters in that big box at the chief post-office marked "Extranjero." The message to Moroni was highly suspicious. Harry Hambledon, as a solicitor, was, of course, a very acute person, and in addition he had very fortunately entered into the true spirit of the adventure. Though he longed to be back again at Richmond with his pretty _fiancee_, Norah Peyton, yet the mystery of the whole affair had bewildered him, and he was as keen as I was myself in elucidating the strange enigma. Moroni was no doubt a tool in the hands of that quiet, sallow-faced man who, by reason of his colossal wealth and huge financial resources, could even make and unmake dynasties. Oswald De Gex, the man who without nationality or patriotism pulled a hundred financial strings both in Europe and in America, held the sinister Doctor Moroni in his pay. I could discern that fact, just as I could see that the man Suzor, who had so cleverly posed as an official of the Credit Lyonnais, was one of the many confidential agents of the mysterious De Gex. One evening I went, by appointment, to the Nuevo Club, to which I had been admitted as a foreign member, and in the smoking-room I awaited Hambledon. At last he came through the big swing doors, and approaching me, excitedly exclaimed: "They've both gone out to Segovia to see the Countess de Chamartin. De Gex sent a wire early this morning and then, on receipt of a reply, they hired a car and drove out to keep the appointment." "Chamartin was a Spanish financier. De Gex is one of international fame--a millionaire," I remarked. "The wits of De Gex are perhaps pitted against the widow and the executors of the dead man. Don't you agree?" "Entirely," was Hambledon's reply. "I follow the trend
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