“Oh, quite. But we’ve been having a little discussion, and—as a matter of fact, Lubbock, it would relieve Mr. Munting’s mind—and mine—considerably, if you would just check up on that point.”
“Well, if you insist, there’s nothing easier. But what’s the mystery?”
“Nothing at all, probably. Just an extra bit of collateral evidence, that’s all.”
“You’ve something at the back of your mind, Waters. Can’t I be allowed to know?”
“I’ll tell you after you’ve done it.”
Sir James Lubbock shook his handsome grey head.
“That’s Waters all over. He’s like Sherlock Holmes. Never can resist a touch of the dramatic.”
“No,” said Waters. “It’s just native caution. Don’t want to commit myself and be made to look foolish.”
“Oh, well, come along and we’ll get it over.”
“Aren’t we interrupting your work?” I said. I hope this question was prompted by politeness, but I think I spoke in a vain hope of delaying the crisis.
“Not a bit. I’d just finished—was packing up, in fact, when I got your message.”
We traversed some more corridors and eventually came out into a large laboratory, faintly lit by a single electric bulb. An attendant was just locking a cupboard. He turned as he saw us.
“It’s all right, Denis. I’ll see to things. You can trot away home.”