proposed victim of some diabolical plot, anarchist or otherwise, and he took General Sadgrove into his confidence. The old gentleman, as you may not be aware, was a sort of policeman in India, and is cracked on finding out things. Naturally, to one of that temperament, the mystery Mr. Forsyth chose to make out of a vulgar attempt at robbery was like a spark on tinder, and the General caught on at once. They’re both fairly on the job—as amateur detectives, you know—and they think they’ve got a clue.”
“How truly interesting! And the clue?’
“Of the most remote kind—not even arrived at, à la Sherlock Holmes, by inspecting cigarette ashes. It seems that Mr. Forsyth—who, by the way, had been to leave a card on you—met the Duke at the Cecil, coming away from the suite of a Mr. Ziegler. He chose to think that my cousin was looking agitated, whereas he was only tired after his voyage. Mr. Ziegler, therefore, if you please, has fallen under the ban of suspicion from these wiseacres, and is supposed to be murderously inclined towards the poor Duke. Even the mischief of some wretched boy in playing tricks with the train he traveled by the other night
[221]
