OF MR. BROWN. Yes"--as Tuppence
made a movement--"not a doubt of it--MR. BROWN IS HERE...."
"In this house?"
"In this room.... You don't understand? I AM MR. BROWN...."
Stupefied, unbelieving, they stared at him. The very lines of his face
had changed. It was a different man who stood before them. He smiled a
slow cruel smile.
"Neither of you will leave this room alive! You said just now we had
succeeded. I have succeeded! The draft treaty is mine." His smile grew
wider as he looked at Tuppence. "Shall I tell you how it will be? Sooner
or later the police will break in, and they will find three victims of
Mr. Brown--three, not two, you understand, but fortunately the third
will not be dead, only wounded, and will be able to describe the attack
with a wealth of detail! The treaty? It is in the hands of Mr. Brown. So
no one will think of searching the pockets of Sir James Peel Edgerton!"
He turned to Jane.
"You outwitted me. I make my acknowledgments. But you will not do it
again."
There was a faint sound behind him, but, intoxicated with success, he
did not turn his head.
He slipped his hand into his pocket.
"Checkmate to the Young Adventurers," he said, and slowly raised the big
automatic.
But, even as he did so, he felt himself seized from behind in a grip of
iron. The revolver was wrenched from his hand, and the voice of Julius
Hersheimmer said drawlingly:
"I guess you're caught redhanded with the goods upon you."
The blood rushed to the K.C.'s face, but his self-control was
marvellous, as he looked from one to the other of his two captors. He
looked longest at Tommy.
"You," he said beneath his breath. "YOU! I might have known."
Seeing that he was disposed to offer no resistance, their grip
slackened. Quick as a flash his left hand, the hand which bore the big
signet ring, was raised to his lips....
"'Ave, Caesar! te morituri salutant,'" he said, still looking at Tommy.
Then his face changed, and with a long convulsive shudder he fell
forward in a crumpled heap, whilst an odour of bitter almonds filled the
air.
CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY AT THE SAVOY
THE supper party given by Mr. Julius Hersheimmer to a few friends on the
evening of the 30th will long be remembered in catering circles. It took
place in a private room, and Mr. Hersheimmer's orders were brief and
forcible. He gave carte blanche--and when a millionaire gives carte
blanche he usually gets it!
Every delic
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