Frank nodded.
"We used to have quite long talks about drugs," he said. "I have recalled many of those conversations since the day of the trial. He even fired me with his enthusiasm, and I used to assist him in his little experiments, and obtained quite a working knowledge of these particular elements. Unfortunately I cannot remember very much, for my enthusiasm soon died, and beyond the fact that he employed hyocine and Indian hemp I have only the dimmest recollection of any of the constituents he employed."
Saul Arthur nodded energetically.
"I shall have more to tell you later, perhaps," he said, "but at present my inquiries are shaping quite nicely. He is going to be a difficult man to catch, because, if all I believe is true, he is one of the most cold-blooded and calculating men it has ever been my lot to meet—and I have met a few," he added grimly.
When he said men Frank knew that he had meant criminals.
"We are probably doing him a horrible injustice," he smiled. "Poor old Jasper!"
"You are not cut out for police work," snapped Saul Arthur Mann; "you've too many sympathies."
"I don't exactly sympathize," rejoined Frank, "but I just pity him in a way."
Again Mr. Mann looked round cautiously and again lowered his voice, which had risen.
"There is one thing I want to talk to you about. It is rather a delicate matter, Mr. Merrill," he said.
"Fire ahead!"
"It is about Miss Nuttall. She has seen a lot of our friend Jasper, and after every interview she seems to grow more and more reliant upon his help. Once or twice she has been embarrassed when I have spoken about Jasper Cole and has changed the subject."
Frank pursed his lips thoughtfully, and a hard little look came into his eyes, which did not promise well for Jasper.
"So that is it," he said, and shrugged his shoulders. "If she cares for him, it is not my business."
"But it is your business," said the other sharply. "She was fond enough of you to offer to marry you."
Further talk was cut short by the arrival of the girl. Their meeting at Geneva had been to some extent a chance one. She was going through to Chamonix to spend the winter, and Saul Arthur Mann seized the opportunity of taking a short and pleasant holiday. Hearing that Frank was in Switzerland, she had telegraphed him to meet her.
"Are you staying any time in Switzerland?" she asked him as they strolled along the beautiful quay.
"I am going back to London to-night," he replied.
"To-night," she said in surprise.
He nodded.
"But I am staying here for two or three days," she protested.
"I intended also staying for two or three days," he smiled, "but my business will not wait."
Nevertheless, she persuaded him to stay till the morrow.
They were at breakfast when the morning mail was delivered, and Frank noted that she went rapidly through the dozen letters which came to her, and she chose one for first reading. He could not help but see that that bore an English stamp, and his long acquaintance with the curious calligraphy of Jasper Cole left him in no doubt as to who was the correspondent. He saw with what eagerness she read the letter, the little look of disappointment when she turned to an inside sheet and found that it had not been filled, and his mind was made up. He had a post also, which he examined with some evidence of impatience.
"Your mail is not so nice as mine," said the girl with a smile.
"It is not nice at all," he grumbled; "the one thing I wanted, and, to be very truthful, May, the one inducement—"
"To stay over the night," she added, "was—what?"
"I have been trying to buy a house on the lake," he said, "and the infernal agent at Lausanne promised to write telling me whether my terms had been agreed to by his client."
He looked down at the table and frowned. Saul Arthur Mann had a great and extensive knowledge of human nature. He had remarked the disappointment on Frank's face, having identified also the correspondent whose letter claimed priority of attention. He knew that Frank's anger with the house agent was very likely the expression of his anger in quite another direction.
"Can I send the letter on?" suggested the girl.
"That won't help me," said Frank, with a little grimace. "I wanted to settle the business this week."
"I have it," she said. "I will open the letter and telegraph to you in Paris whether the terms are accepted or not."
Frank laughed.
"It hardly seems worth that," he said, "but I should take it as awfully kind of you if you would, May."
Saul Arthur Mann believed in his mind that Frank did not care tuppence whether the agent accepted the terms or not, but that he had taken this as a Heaven-sent opportunity for veiling his annoyance.
"You have had quite a large mail, Miss Nuttall," he said.
"I've only opened one, though. It is from Jasper," she said hurriedly.
Again both men noticed the faint flush, the strange, unusual light which came to her eyes.
"And where does Jasper write from?" asked Frank, steadying his voice.
"He writes from England, but he was going on the Continent to Holland the day he wrote," she said. "It is funny to think that he is here."
"In Switzerland?" asked Frank in surprise.
"Don't be silly," she laughed. "No, I mean on the mainland—I mean there is no sea between us."
She went crimson.
"It sounds thrilling," said Frank dryly.
She flashed round at him.
"You mustn't be horrid about Jasper," she said quickly; "he never speaks about you unkindly."
"I don't see why he should," said Frank; "but let's get off a subject which is—"
"Which is—what?" she challenged
"Which is controversial," said Frank diplomatically.
She came down to the station to see him off. As he looked out of the window, waving his farewells, he thought he had never seen a more lovely being or one more desirable.
It was in the afternoon of that day which saw Frank Merrill speeding toward the Swiss frontier and Paris that Mr. Rex Holland strode into the Palace Hotel at Montreux and seated himself at a table in the restaurant. The hour was late and the room was almost deserted. Giovanni, the head waiter, recognized him and came hurriedly across the room.
"Ah, m'sieur," he said, "you are back from England. I didn't expect you till the winter sports had started. Is Paris very dull?"
"I didn't come through Paris," said the other shortly; "there are many roads leading to Switzerland."
"But few pleasant roads, m'sieur. I have come to Montreux by all manner of ways—from Paris, through Pontarlier, through Ostend, Brussels, through the Hook of Holland and Amsterdam, but Paris is the only way for the man who is flying to this beautiful land."
The man at the table said nothing, scanning the menu carefully. He looked tired as one who had taken a very long journey.
"It may interest you to know," he said, after he had given his order and as Giovanni was turning away, "that I came by the longest route. Tell me, Giovanni, have you a man called Merrill staying at the hotel?"
"No, m'sieur," said the other. "Is he a friend of yours?"
Mr. Rex Holland smiled.
"In a sense he is a friend, in a sense he is not," he said flippantly, and offered no further enlightenment, although Giovanni waited with a deferential cock of his head.
Later, when he had finished his modest dinner, he strolled into the one long street of the town, returning to the writing room of the hotel with a number of papers which included the visitors' list, a publication printed in English, and which, as it related the comings and goings of visitors, not only to Lausanne, Montreux, and Teritet, but also to Evian and Geneva, enjoyed a fair circulation. He sat at the table, and, drawing a sheet of paper from the rack, wrote, addressed an envelope to Frank Merrill, esquire, Hotel de France, Geneva, slipped it into the hotel pillar box, and went to bed.