“Follow that victoria which has just driven
off,” he ordered. “Don’t lose
sight of it. Double fare.”
The trap-door fell, and the man whipped up his horse.
Mr. Sabin received an early visitor whilst still lingering
over a slight but elegant breakfast. Passmore
seated himself in an easy-chair and accepted the cigar
which his host himself selected for him.
“I am glad to see you,” Mr. Sabin said.
“This affair of Duson’s remains a complete
mystery to me. I am looking to you to help me
solve it.”
The little man with the imperturbable face removed
his cigar from his mouth and contemplated it steadfastly.
“It is mysterious,” he said. “There
are circumstances in connection with it which even
now puzzle me very much, very much indeed. There
are circumstances in connection with it also which
I fear may be a shock to you, sir.”
“My life,” Mr. Sabin said, with a faint
smile, “has been made up of shocks. A
few more or less may not hurt me.”
“Duson,” the detective said, “was
at heart a faithful servant!”
“I believe it,” Mr. Sabin said.
“He was much attached to you!”
“I believe it.”
“It is possible that unwittingly he died for
you.”
Mr. Sabin was silent. It was his way of avoiding
a confession of surprise. And he was surprised.
“You believe then,” he said, after a
moment’s pause, “that the poison was intended
for me?”
“Certainly I do,” the detective answered.
“Duson was, after all, a valet, a person of
little importance. There is no one to whom his
removal could have been of sufficient importance to
justify such extreme measures. With you it is
different.”
Mr. Sabin knocked the ash from his cigarette.
“Why not be frank with me, Mr. Passmore?”
he said. “There is no need to shelter
yourself under professional reticence. Your
connection with Scotland Yard ended, I believe, some
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.”
