time ago. You are free to speak or
to keep silence. Do one or the other. Tell me what you think, and I will
tell you what I know. That surely will be a fair exchange. You shall
have my facts for your surmises."

Passmore's thin lips curled into a smile. "You know that I have left
Scotland Yard then, sir?"

"Quite well! You are employed by them often, I believe, but you are not
on the staff, not since the affair of Nerman and the code book."

If Passmore had been capable of reverence, his eyes looked it at that
moment.

"You knew this last night, sir?"

"Certainly!"

"Five years ago, sir," he said, "I told my chief that in you the
detective police of the world had lost one who must have been their
king. More and more you convince me of it. I cannot believe that you are
ignorant of the salient points concerning Duson's death."

"Treat me as being so, at any rate," Mr. Sabin said.

"I am pardoned," Passmore said, "for speaking plainly of family
matters--my concern in which is of course purely professional?"

Mr. Sabin looked up for a moment, but he signified his assent.

"You left America," Passmore said, "in search of your wife, formerly
Countess of Radantz, who had left you unexpectedly."

"It is true!" Mr. Sabin answered.

"Madame la Duchesse on reaching London became the guest of the Duchess
of Dorset, where she has been staying since. Whilst there she has
received many visits from Mr. Reginald Brott."

Mr. Sabin's face was as the face of a sphinx. He made no sign.

"You do not waste your time, sir, over the Society papers. Yet you have
probably heard that Madame la Duchesse and Mr. Reginald Brott have been
written about and spoken about as intimate friends. They have been seen
together everywhere. Gossip has been busy with their names. Mr. Brott
has followed the Countess into circles which before her coming he
zealously eschewed. The Countess is everywhere regarded as a widow, and
a marriage has been confidently spoken of."

Mr. Sabin bowed his head slightly. But of expression there was in his
face no sign.

"These things," Passmore continued, "are common knowledge. I have
spoken up to now of nothing which is not known to the world. I proceed
differently."

"Good!" Mr. Sabin said.

"There is," Passmore continued, "in the foreign district of London a
man named Emil Sachs, who keeps a curious sort of a wine-shop, and
supplements his earnings by disposing at a high figure of certain rare
and dead