"I've got two men on to Sir George," said T. B. to Van Ingen. They were at the Yard. "I've given them instructions not to leave him day or night. Now, the question is, how will the 'bears' discover the fatal day the barrage is to be handed over to the guileless Fellaheen?"
"Through the Egyptian Government?" suggested Van Ingen.
"That I doubt. It seems a simple proposition, but the issues are so important that you may be sure our mysterious friends will not strike until they are absolutely certain. In the meantime----"
He unlocked the safe and took out a book. This, too, was fastened by two locks. He opened it, laid it down, and began writing on a sheet of paper, carefully, laboriously checking the result.
That night the gentleman who is responsible for the good order of Egypt received a telegram which ran:
"Premium Fellow Collect Wady Barrage Meridian Tainted Inoculate Weary Sulphur."
There was a great deal more written in the same interesting style. When the Egyptian Chief of Police unlocked his book to decode the message, he was humming a little tune that he had heard the band playing outside Shepheard's Hotel. Long before he had finished decoding the message, his humming stopped.
Ten minutes later the wires were humming, and a battalion of infantry was hastily entrained from Khartoum.
Having despatched the wire, T. B. turned to the young man, who was sitting solemnly regarding a small gossamer handkerchief and a crushed rosebud that lay on the table.
"Well?" demanded T. B. Smith, leaning over the table, "what do you make of 'em?"
"They are not Sir George's," replied Van Ingen, with a grin.
"So much I gather," said T. B. "A client's?"
"A very depressed and agitated client--feel."
T. B.'s fingers touched the little handkerchief; it was still quite damp. He nodded.
"Did you notice our austere banker's button-hole?"
"Not particularly--but I remember no flowers."
"No," agreed Van Ingen, "there were no flowers. I noticed particularly that his buttonhole was sewn, and yet----"
"Hidden in one of those drawers was a bunch of these roses. I saw them when he was getting your balance-sheet."
"H'm!" T. B. tapped the table impatiently.
"So, you see," Van Ingen went on, "we have an interest in this lady client of his, who comes after office hours, weeps copiously, and leaves a bunch of rosebuds as a souvenir of her visit. It may have been a client, of course."