He broke off abruptly. Isaacstein, who had been frowning abstractedly at the fireplace, looked up just too late to catch the warning glance telegraphed from Superintendent Battle to the other. But being a man sensitive to vibrations in the atmosphere, he was conscious of a sense of strain.
“You don’t want me any longer, do you, Lomax?” he inquired.
“No, thank you, my dear fellow.”
“Would it upset your plans if I returned to London, Superintendent Battle?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said the Superintendent civilly. “You see, if you go, there will be others who’ll want to go also. And that would never do.”
“Quite so.”
The great financier left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Splendid fellow, Isaacstein,” murmured George Lomax perfunctorily.
“Very powerful personality,” agreed Superintendent Battle.
George began to pace up and down again.
“What you say disturbs me greatly,” he began. “King Victor! I thought he was in prison?”
“Came out a few months ago. French police meant to keep on his heels, but he managed to give them the slip straight away. He would too. One of the coolest customers that ever lived. For some reason or other, they believe he’s in England, and have notified us to that effect.”
“But what should he be doing in England?”
“That’s for you to say, sir,” said Battle significantly.