“In view of the name signed to those letters, I do, Mr. Lomax.”
“An amazing piece of effrontery,” murmured George, his brow darkened as he looked at the bundle of letters. “I remember the late King of Herzoslovakia. A charming fellow, but weak—deplorably weak. A tool in the hands of an unscrupulous woman. Have you any theory as to how these letters came to be restored to Mr. Cade?”
“It's my opinion,” said Battle, “that if people can’t get a thing one way—they try another.”
“I don’t quite follow you,” said George.
“This crook, this King Victor, he’s well aware by now that the Council Chamber is watched. So he’ll let us have the letters, and let us do the decoding, and let us find the hiding-place. And then—trouble! But Lemoine and I between us will attend to that.”
“You've got a plan, eh?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I've got a plan. But I've got an idea. It’s a very useful thing sometimes, an idea.”
Thereupon Superintendent Battle took his departure.
He had no intention of taking George any further into his confidence.
On the way back, he passed Anthony on the road and stopped.
“Going to give me a lift back to the house?” asked Anthony. “That’s good.”
“Where have you been, Mr. Cade?”
“Down to the station to inquire about trains.”
Battle raised his eyebrows.
“Thinking of leaving us again?” he inquired.
“Not just at present,” laughed Anthony. “By the way, what's upset Isaacstein? He arrived in the car just as I left, and he looked as though something had given him a nasty jolt.”
“Mr. Isaacstein?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t say, I'm sure. I fancy it would take a good deal to jolt him.”
“So do I,” agreed Anthony. “He's quite one of the strong silent yellow men of finance.”
Suddenly Battle leant forward and touched the chauffeur on the shoulder.
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