appear on the scene. I use the name of Inspector Marriot to gain confidence. The rest is easy.”
He laughed.
Tommy was dying to say several things, but the gag in his mouth prevented him. Also, he was dying to do several things—mostly with his hands and feet—but alas, that too had been attended to. He was securely bound.
The thing that amazed him most was the astounding change in the man standing over him. As Inspector Dymchurch, the fellow had been a typical Englishman. Now, no one could have mistaken him for a moment for anything but a well educated foreigner who talked English perfectly without trace of accent.
“Coggins, my good friend,” said the erstwhile Inspector, addressing his ruffianly looking associate. “Take your life preserver and stand by the prisoner. I am going to remove the gag. You understand, my dear Mr. Blunt, do you not, that it would be criminally foolish on your part to cry out? But I am sure you do. For your age, you are quite an intelligent lad.”
Very deftly he removed the gag, and stepped back.
Tommy eased his stiff jaws, rolled his tongue round his mouth, swallowed twice—and said nothing at all.
“I congratulate you on your restraint,” said the other. “You appreciate the position, I see. Have you nothing at all to say?”
“What I have to say will keep,” said Tommy. “And it won’t spoil by waiting.”
“Ah! What I have to say will not keep. In plain English, Mr. Blunt, where is that letter?”