"Ah, you are a delightful companion, Monsieur," was Peret's genial response. "Me—I am a great talker, but a poor listener. I will tell you what I know with pleasure. But let me first congratulate you upon the excellence of these Persian cigarettes. Sacre! But you have a delicate taste, Monsieur."
The artist bowed his acknowledgment to the compliment, but impatiently. It was evident that he was eager to hear what the Frenchman had on his mind, and Peret, remarking this, did not keep him longer in suspense.
"I will not take up your time by recounting all that has transpired since I saw you last night, Monsieur," began Peret, "and for the sake of convenience I will tell my story in a round-about sort of way. Let me begin with my first attempt to motivate Berjet's murder.
"M. Berjet was, as you are doubtless aware, a scientist of international repute. In scientific circles, in fact, he was a towering figure. I have the honor of having had a casual acquaintanceship with him for several years, and as I knelt beside his dead body on the sidewalk last night I recalled to mind many of the achievements that had brought him moderate wealth and fame. Among other things. I remembered having recently seen a newspaper account of a new invention of his—a poison gas of unparalleled destructive powers, the formula of which several warring nations have been trying to purchase.
"As clues were sadly lacking, and our investigation in his house failed to reveal any satisfactory explanation for Berjet's death, I at once assumed that the motive for the murder had been the theft of the formula. I knew that at least one of the nations that have been trying to acquire the formula would go to almost any length to gain possession of a new and really effective weapon of this kind. I therefore got in touch with the Secret Service, which usually has an intimate knowledge of such matters, and learned several facts that made me more certain than ever that I was on the right track.
"Berjet's poison gas, I learned, is indeed a terrible destructive agent. It is said to be even more deadly than Lewisite. A minute portion of a drop, if placed on the ground, will kill every living thing, vegetable and animal, within a radius of half a mile. Think, then, what a ton would do!
"Berjet called his invention 'Q-gas.' The formula was first offered to our government for a moderate sum, and rejected, and at the time of his death the savant was negotiating for its sale to the French government."
"Surely, you are not going to try to make me believe that this Q-gas played a direct part in the death of Berjet and Sprague and the attack on me," interrupted Deweese. "Believe me, Mr. Peret—"
"I do believe you, my friend," was Peret's smiling response. "The gas itself played no part in the tragedy last night, but the formula is at the bottom of all of the trouble, as has been suggested. The murders were simply incidental to the robbery of the formula."
"Have you discovered who the robber was?" queried Deweese, with natural curiosity.
"Yes," replied Peret calmly, "Even without clues to work with, this would not have been very difficult. Of the several nations that have been trying to get possession of the Q-gas formula there are only one or two that would authorize their agents to go to such extremes as were employed last night to acquire it, and as virtually all of their agents are known to the Secret Service, our search would have been confined to a limited group of men and women. It would simply have been a matter of elimination."
Deweese nodded his understanding, and the sleuth continued:
"Almost from the very first, however, for reasons which I will explain later, I was led to suspect a man who has since turned out to be a notorious international agent, known in diplomatic circles as Count Vincent di Dalfonzo. During his absence, I made a somewhat hurried search of his rooms after my departure from the scientist's house, but could find nothing to incriminate him.
"One of my operatives, however, a former Secret Service agent, was able to identify him, if nothing more. According to this operative, Dalfonzo, who is one of the greatest scoundrels unhung, at the present time bears the secret credentials of a nation I will leave unnamed, but one which, I have reason to know, has made several unsuccessful attempts to buy the Q-gas formula from Berjet."
Deweese was leaning forward in his chair, an eager listener. As Peret paused to relight his cigarette, he remarked:
"If Dalfonzo is such a notorious character, one would have thought that the Secret Service would have kept him under its eye."
"One would have thought so, indeed," agreed Peret, expelling a cloud of smoke from his lungs. "When last heard of several months ago, Dalfonzo was in Petrograd and he probably entered this country in disguise and has since kept himself well under cover."
"Have you arrested him?"
"I have scarcely had time yet, Monsieur,” answered Peret. "I feel safe in saying, however, that he will be in the custody of the police within the next twenty-four hours."
"Good! I will never feel safe while this scoundrel is at large, if indeed he really did have a hand in the murders of Berjet, Sprague and Adolphe, and the attack on me."
"Dalfonzo had nothing to do with Adolphe's murder, and only an indirect hand in the attack on you," said Peret. "Sacre bleu! Dalfonzo is not the kind of man that strikes down his victims with butcher knives and such; he is a man of delicate ideas and sensibilities, Monsieur."
"So it seems," said Deweese drily. "I know that the finger prints on the dagger tend to prove that Adolphe was murdered by his employer, but in the light of the other facts can this evidence be considered conclusive? The prints on the dagger may simply be a trick to confuse the police. The Whispering Thing—But stay! For the moment I had forgotten the Whispering Thing. It seems to me that we are getting away from the main issue."
"Patience, Monsiour," said Peret, with an enigmatical smile. "Everything will be explained in good time. But first, let me assure you that the finger prints on the dagger are genuine. Adolphe was undoubtedly murdered by the scientist, and as the penalty for this crime he gave his own life."
Deweese started. The Frenchman's indirect method of telling his story, and the complacence with which he stated apparently contradictory facts, confused and annoyed him.
"You mean—?" he began.
"I mean that Berjet was murdered because he stabbed his valet."
"Well," averred Deweese, unable to conceal his impatience, "all of this is about as clear as mud to me. First you say that the motive for Berjet's murder was the robbery of the formula, and now you declare that he was done away with because he killed his valet. What am I to believe?"
"What you will, Monsieur," replied Peret. "Everything I have stated is true, although I confess that as yet I have nothing to prove it. If the facts seem contradictory, it is because I have expressed myself badly.
"According to my theory, Count Dalfonzo (for a consideration of course), induced Adolphe to steal the formula of Q-gas from his benefactor. When poor Berjet learned that he had been betrayed he stabbed the betrayer in
