Receiving no response, he turned the knob. The door opened; Delka and The Shadow stepped into an unlocked room.
Selbrock was not about, so Delka eyed the quarters. The room was comfortably furnished and quite tidy. Upon a writing desk Delka noted a portable typewriter, with a pipe and tobacco pouch beside it.
Strolling over, Delka studied the machine.
“An American typewriter,” he remarked. “Cavalier Portable, No. 4. A very popular machine nowadays. We have several at headquarters. I wonder whereabouts this chap Selbrock can be? He left his door unlocked; he cannot have traveled far.”
DELKA paused as he saw The Shadow turn toward the door. Some one was entering. The visitors saw a tall, rangy man who appeared youngish despite the gray streaks in his hair. The arrival smiled a greeting.
“Cheerio,” he said. “I was informed that I had visitors. Are you from Scotland Yard?”
“Are you Lionel Selbrock?” returned Delka, promptly.
“None other,” responded the rangy man. “Your name?”
“Eric Delka, acting inspector. This is Mr. Cranston.”
“Jove!” exclaimed Selbrock, as he shook hands. “So you two are the pair who dealt with those beggars at St. James Square, last night. I have just been breakfasting and reading the news at the same time. Congratulations.”
“It appears that we encountered a friend of yours,” remarked Delka, cagily.
“Captain Darryat?” queried Selbrock. “He was no friend of mine. I suspected that bounder of double dealing. I am not surprised to learn that he was a rogue. I suppose that you have come to question me regarding Darryat?”
“I have,” expressed Delka. “We heard of you through Justin Craybaw. He told us of your financial arrangements with Rudlow, Limited. I should like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Selbrock. Perhaps they may strike you as abrupt; nevertheless, I shall appreciate prompt answers.”
“Righto,” agreed Selbrock.
“First” — Delka looked about him — “just why have you chosen this hotel for your residence?”
“Because of its moderate rates.”
“Rather modest quarters for a man worth a quarter million—”
“Not yet, inspector.” Selbrock paused to laugh. “My present circumstances are somewhat straitened. I have not yet disposed of my options, old fellow. I am living on hopes.”
“I see. But just why do you keep your room unlocked? Have you no fear of thieves?”
“None at all. My valuable documents are already with Rudlow, Limited. They require my signature to complete the transfer of the options. He who robs me gains nothing but a second-hand typewriter and a worn-out tobacco pipe.”
Delka nodded. Then he proceeded with a question of a different sort:
“Are you acquainted with Sir Ernest Jennup?”
Selbrock paused; then slowly shook his head.
“That is a poser,” he admitted. “I am acquainted with Sir Ernest, yes; because I know him well by sight. I saw him once at his bank; twice at the offices of Rudlow, Limited. But I have never spoken with him.”
“Not even when you made arrangements with the directors of Rudlow, Limited?”
“Not even then. Sir Ernest was not present on those occasions. Justin Craybaw serves as managing director. He was in charge of the conferences.”
“Very well. Next, what can you tell me concerning the man who called himself Captain Darryat?”
“Only that he learned somehow of my options. He came here and asked me to open negotiations with a friend of his, the Rajah of Delapore.”
“And what was your answer?”
“That I could deal only through Rudlow, Limited.”
“What was Darryat’s response?”
“He was angry when he left. He told me to handle my transactions for myself. He dared me to open negotiations, through Rudlow, with the rajah. He claimed such friendship with the rajah that my cause would prove useless.”
“So you took up the challenge?”
“I did. I asked Rudlow, Limited, to communicate with the Rajah of Delapore. His excellency did not rebuff us. On the contrary, he acted quite in opposite to Darryat’s prediction.”
“You saw Darryat after that?”
“Never. I suppose that the chap had become quite disgruntled. It was cheek that made him hurl his defy. I met the rascal’s bluff. Yet I feel sorry for the beggar, now that he is dead.”
Selbrock’s face had saddened. Delka changed the subject. He felt no regrets for Darryat.
“About these oil interests,” remarked the Scotland Yard man. “You have credentials, I suppose?”
“They are with Rudlow, Limited.”
“Have I your permission to examine them?”
“Absolutely! You might also interview the Turkish ambassador, to authenticate the seals and signatures. All are quite in order, I assure you.”
DELKA appeared satisfied with the interview. He nodded to The Shadow and the two took their leave.
Selbrock insisted upon going with them to the lobby. The last that they saw of the man was when he waved a cheery farewell as they stepped to the street.
“A confident chap,” was Delka’s comment. “Nevertheless, I shall make close scrutiny of those documents that he brought from Istanbul. Suppose we walk over to Liverpool Street and take the Central London. It will carry us to Mayfair; the trains call at Marble Arch, which is a convenient station.”
Mayfair, due west from Aldgate, constitutes the smartest section of London’s celebrated West End.
Arrived at Marble Arch, the entrance to Hyde Park, Delka and The Shadow traced their way southward along Park Lane, then turned toward Grosvenor Square. They arrived at a palatial, marble-fronted building which proved to be an apartment hotel. Delka glanced at his watch.
“Even with the short wait at Liverpool Street,” he chuckled, “and the thirteen minutes’ trip to Marble Arch, the journey has taken us scarcely more than a half hour. Unless the Rajah of Delapore is an early riser, we shall certainly find him at his residence.”
The Rajah of Delapore was at home. Delka and The Shadow were ushered to his sumptuous second-floor apartment, to enter a living room which was thick with the atmosphere of the Orient.
Carved chairs, ornate tapestries, the perfume from silver incense burners — all formed a part of this transplanted room which seemed to have been brought intact from a native province in India.
A tall, sallow-faced man received the visitors. Long-nosed, with sleek, black hair, this fellow possessed a pair of quick beady eyes that had the peculiar faculty of enlarging themselves. The man was smooth-shaven; and the color of his skin seemed almost artificial.
“My name is Ranworthy,” said the man by way of self-introduction. “Jed Ranworthy, secretary to His Excellency, the Rajah of Delapore. His excellency has instructed me to discuss matters with you until he can join us in conference. Pray be seated, gentlemen.”
Delka decided to quiz the secretary, for a starter.
“Being from Scotland Yard,” stated Delka, “I am here to find out all that can be learned concerning Captain Richard Darryat. What can you tell us about him, Mr. Ranworthy?”
“Captain Darryat?” Ranworthy smiled sourly. “I knew the chap for a rogue the moment he introduced himself here. I did not state that opinion to the rajah. I wanted his excellency to form the conclusion for himself.”
“I see. How did Darryat happen to come here?”
Ranworthy shrugged his shoulders before replying.
“Like any one else,” he declared, “the man could have learned that a Hindu potentate was residing in Mayfair. There was no deep secret surrounding the presence of the Rajah of Delapore in London.”