"Oh, see here,"--Napier's patience, perhaps even his self-control, was wearing thin--"what's the use of going on like this? You know there's only one suspicious person hereabouts. What you couldn't know is that I wrote from Scotland a full and complete statement."
"To keep the Gull Island business to yourself."
Before Napier could bring out his slightly annoyed defense, Singleton went on: "I wouldn't have dreamed of broaching the matter, if I hadn't just got my instructions to meet you in London for the express purpose of telling you that the importance of Gull Island isn't a thing of the past." He waited while Napier digested the news in a wondering silence.
"In your report to headquarters you didn't, I gather, mention the lady," Singleton persisted.
"Why should I? So far as she was concerned I had only my unsupported suspicions to go on. I thought it only fair to Sir William to leave the initiative _there_ to him."
"I see. It was perhaps the more convenient thing to do."
"It wasn't at all convenient," Napier assured him with asperity. "I got into such particularly hot water over my case against the lady that I don't at this moment know whether I am still private secretary to Sir William McIntyre or not."
"She persuaded him that I was, to put it mildly, salving my wounded feelings. Oh, she's--" Napier jumped up, and went to the door.
"Yes, she is," Singleton's voice sounded an amused agreement.
"_What_ is she?" Napier demanded, turning round. "Does anybody know?"
Napier stood there, an embodied interrogation. How closely did it touch Nan Ellis, the knowledge this man had?
"We've kept an eye on her for some time. She has been unconsciously--" Singleton flicked his cigar-ash--"of considerable use to us. Oh, she's well known. Devils for Pforzheim and Engleberg."
"The older one, who called himself Carl Pforzheim. A slim pair, those two!"
Singleton smiled. "One got away--Carl. Ernst is--extremely safe."
The thought of Lady McIntyre came to Napier, along with the horror of the picture Singleton had evoked; intimates of Kirklamont, donors of Boris and Ivan; Mr. Ernst, in prison waiting for the firing squad; Mr. Carl showing his "nice teeth" in a rictus of terror before turning to take McClintock's knife in his throat.