Array Sapper - The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile Sapper

"How do you know?" snapped Drummond, and the President of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate found himself staring almost fascinated at a pair of eyes from which every trace of laziness had vanished.

"He always carried them with him," he stammered. "And I—er—assumed..."

"Then you assumed wrong. Professor Goodman handed me those notes at lunch the day he died."

"Where are they now?" It was Mr Leibhaus who asked the question in his guttural voice.

"Since they are of no use, what does it matter?" answered Drummond indifferently.

"Gentlemen!" Sir Raymond's peremptory voice checked the sudden buzz of conversation. "Captain Drummond," he remarked, "I must confess that what you have told me this afternoon has given me a slight shock. As I say, I had assumed that the notes of the process had perished with the Professor. You now tell us that he handed them to you. Well, I make no bones about it that though—from a purely scientific point of view the process fails—yet—er—from a business point of view it is not one that any of us would care to have noised abroad. You will understand that if diamonds can be made cheaply which except to the eye of the most practical expert are real, it will—er—not be a good thing for those who are interested in the diamond market. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I tell you what I can't understand, Sir Raymond," said Drummond quietly. "And that is that you're a damned bad poker player. If flaws—as you say—have appeared in the diamonds manufactured by this process, you and your pals here would not now be giving the finest example of a vertical typhoon that I've ever seen."

Sir Raymond subsided in his chair a little foolishly; he felt at a complete loss as to where he stood with this astonishing young man. And it was left to Mr Leibhaus to make the next move.

"Let us leave that point for the moment," he remarked. "Where are these notes now?"

"I've already told you," replied Drummond casually. "The worthy Scheidstrun has them. And in accordance with Professor Goodman's written instructions he proposes to give the secret to the world of science at an early date. In fact he is going back to Germany tomorrow to do so."

"But the thing is impossible," cried Sir Raymond, recovering his speech. "You mean to say that Professor Goodman left written instructions that the notes of his process were to be handed over to—to Scheidstrun?"

"I do," returned Drummond. "And if you want confirmation, you can ring up Mr Tootem of Austin Friars—Professor Goodman's lawyer. He saw the letter, and it was in his office the notes were handed over."

"You will excuse me, Captain Drummond, if I confer for a few moments with my friends," said Sir Raymond, rising.

The directors of the Metropolitan Diamond Syndicate withdrew to the farther end of the long room, leaving Drummond still sitting at the table. And to that gentleman's shrewd eye it was soon apparent that his chance arrow had hit the mark, though exactly what mark it was, was still beyond him. But the agitation displayed by the group of men in the window was too obvious to miss, and had he known all the facts he would have found it hardly surprising.

The directors were faced unexpectedly with as thorny a problem as could well be devised.

Believing as they had that the notes had been destroyed—had not Mr Edward Blackton assured them of that fact?—they had unanimously decided to adopt the role that the process had proved useless, thereby removing any possible suspicion that might attach itself to them. And now they found that not only had the notes not been destroyed, but that they were in the possession of Blackton himself. And it needed but little imagination to realise that dangerous though the knowledge of the process had been in the hands of Professor Goodman, it was twenty times more so in the hands of Blackton if he meant to double-cross them.

That was the point: did he? Or had he discovered somehow or other that Drummond held the notes and taken these steps in order to get them?

And the second little matter which had to be solved was how much this man Drummond knew. If he knew nothing at all, why had he bothered to come round and see them? It was out of the question, surely, that he could have any inkling of the real truth concerning the bogus Professor Scheidstrun. Had not the impersonation deceived even London scientists who knew the real man at the funeral that afternoon?

For a while the directors conferred together in whispers; then Sir Raymond advanced towards the table. The first thing was to get rid of Drummond.

"I am sure we are all very much obliged to you, Captain Drummond, for taking so much trouble and coming round to see us, but I don't think there is anything more you can do. Should an opportunity arise I will take steps to let Professor Scheidstrun know what we think—" He held out a cordial hand to terminate the interview.

But it takes two people to terminate an interview, and Drummond had no intention of being the second. He realised that he was on delicate ground and that it behoved him to walk warily. But his conviction that something was wrong somewhere was stronger than ever, and he was determined to try to get to the bottom of it.

"It might perhaps be as well, Sir Raymond," he remarked, "to go round and tell him now. I know where he is stopping." Was it his imagination, or did the men in the window look at one another uneasily? "As I told you, I pulled the poor old bean's nose this morning, and it seems a good way of making amends."

Sir Raymond stared at him. "May I ask you why you pulled his nose?" And Drummond decided on a bold move.

"Because, Sir Raymond, I came to the conclusion that Professor Scheidstrun was not Professor Scheidstrun, but somebody else." There was no mistaking the air of tension now. "I may say that I was mistaken."

"Who did you think he was?" Sir Raymond gave a forced laugh.

"A gentleman of international reputation," said Drummond quietly, "who masquerades under a variety of names. I knew him first as Carl Peterson, but he answers to a lot of titles. The Comte de Guy is one of them."

And now the atmosphere was electric, a fact which did not escape Drummond. His eyes had narrowed; he was sitting very still. In the language of the old nursery game, he was getting warm.

"But I conclusively proved, gentlemen," he continued, "that the man to whom I handed those notes this morning was not the Comte de Guy. The Comte, gentlemen, has arms as big as mine. His physical strength is very great. This man had arms like walking sticks, and he couldn't have strangled a mouse."

One by one the men at the window had returned to their seats, and now they sat in perfect silence staring at Drummond. What on earth was this new complication, or was this man deliberately deceiving them?

"Do you know the Comte de Guy well?" said Sir Raymond after a pause.

"Very well," remarked Drummond. "Do you?"

"I have heard of him," answered the other.

"Then, as you probably know, his power of disguising himself is so miraculous as to be uncanny. He has one little mannerism, however, which he sometimes shows in moments of excitement whatever his disguise. And it has enabled me to spot him on one or two occasions. When therefore I saw that little trick of his in the lawyer's office this morning, I jumped to the conclusion that my old friend was on the war-path again. So I leaped upon him and the subsequent scene was dreadful. It was not my old friend at all, but a complete stranger with a vast wife who nearly felled me with a blow on the ear."

He selected another cigarette with care.

"However," he continued casually, "It's a very good thing for you that the process is a dud. Because I am sure nothing would induce him to disregard Professor Goodman's wishes on the subject if it hadn't been."