“You think Rayburn is a crook, then?” I said slowly.

Pagett did. How far his views were influenced by resentment over his black eye I don’t know. He made out a pretty fair case against Rayburn. And the appearance of the latter told against him. My idea was to do nothing in the matter. A man who has permitted himself to be made a thorough fool of is not anxious to broadcast the fact.

But Pagett, his energy unimpaired by his recent misfortunes, was all for vigorous measures. He had his way of course. He bustled out to the police station, sent innumerable cables, and brought a herd of English and Dutch officials to drink whiskies and sodas at my expense.

We got Milray’s answer that evening. He knew nothing of my late secretary! There was only one spot of comfort to be extracted from the situation.

“At any rate,” I said to Pagett, “you weren’t poisoned. You had one of your ordinary bilious attacks.”

I saw him wince. It was my only score.