XXXIV
M. Max Reports Progress
DETECTIVE-SERGEANT SOWERBY was seated in Dunbar’s room at New Scotland Yard. Some days had elapsed since that critical moment when, all unaware of the fact, they had stood within three yards of the much-wanted Soames, in the fauteuils of the east-end music-hall. Every clue thus far investigated had proved a cul-de-sac. Dunbar, who had literally been working night and day, now began to show evidence of his giant toils. The tawny eyes were as keen as ever, and the whole man as forceful as of old, but in the intervals of conversation, his lids would droop wearily; he would only arouse himself by a perceptible effort.
Sowerby, whose bowler hat lay upon Dunbar’s table, was clad in the familiar raincoat, and his ruddy cheerfulness had abated not one whit.
“Have you ever read ‘The Adventures of Martin Zeda’?” he asked suddenly, breaking a silence of some minutes’ duration.
Dunbar looked up with a start, as…
“Never!” he replied; “I’m not wasting my time with magazine trash.”
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