lips for a whistle that did not come. "About half past eleven, you say, in the Cosmopolitan vestibule? Why, an hour before I was talking with him in Park Lane, when he was as hale and cheery as you please."
"Yes, it's all very mysterious," said Mr. Gage, solemnly.
It was clear that Saul Hartz was greatly impressed by this piece of news. There was no longer a trace of lightness in his manner when he said abruptly, after a slight pause: "There'll be an inquest, of course?"
"Oh, yes. The police have already taken charge of the body. But they are extraordinarily reticent."
"They suspect foul play?"
"There seems absolutely nothing to be got out of Scotland Yard. Verity's with them now."
The Colossus frowned. He produced from his waistcoat pocket a toothpick and began to chew it viciously. "We probably know quite as much as they do, or very likely more. But Verity can be trusted, I hope, not to give them cold feet."
"From what he says—he went down to Whitehall before breakfast—they've got cold feet already."
"Oh, they have!" Saul Hartz grew reflective. "Then, in this case, they seem rather more up to time than usual. The fact is, Gage, it's no use disguising that this affair wears a particularly ugly look."
"That, undoubtedly, is Scotland Yard's opinion."
"What do they surmise to be the cause of death?"
"Verity can't get a word out of them."
