The trio assembled there glanced up again at his entrance with professional curiosity, but Mordaunt’s face was quite inscrutable.  Without speaking, he went to the table, took out his notebook, and began to write.  The evidence had that evening been completed, and the trial adjourned for two days.  It was his intention to write a short resume of the whole, and this he proceeded to do with characteristic clearness of outline.  His pen moved rapidly, with unwavering decision, and for upwards of an hour he was immersed in his task, to the exclusion of all other considerations.

The three other men in the room completed their own reports, and went out one by one.  The hotel was full of journalists from all parts, and the dinner-hour was always a crowded time.  It was considered advisable by the English coterie to secure the meal as early as possible, but to-night Mordaunt neglected this precaution.  He did not look up when the others left, or stir from his place until the article upon which he was engaged was finished.

He threw down his pen at last, and leaned back to run his eye over what he had written.  It was a very brief inspection, and he made no corrections.

Finally he shook the loose sheets together, added two or three sketches from his notebook, thrust them into a directed envelope, and went to the door.

Holmes came to him at once along the passage.

“Get this sealed and dispatched without delay,” Mordaunt said.  “The gentleman is still waiting, I suppose?”

“Still waiting, sir,” said Holmes.

“He has dined?”

“If you can call it dining, sir.”

“Very well.  You can go, Holmes.”

But Holmes lingered a moment.  “Won’t you dine yourself, sir?”

“Later on.  I am engaged just now.  All right.  Don’t wait.”

Holmes shook his head disapprovingly without further words, and turned to obey.

Mordaunt closed the door and turned the key, then walked slowly across the room to the window by which the Frenchman had sat that afternoon, and opened it wide.  The night was very dark, and through it the sea moaned desolately.  The wind was rising with the tide and blew in salt and cold, infinitely refreshing after the stuffy heat of the day.  He leaned his head for a while against the window-frame.  There was intense weariness in his attitude.

He uttered a great sigh at last and stood up, paused a moment, as though to pull himself together, then, with his customary precision of movement, he turned from the open window and walked across to the door that led into the next room.  His face was somewhat paler than usual, but perfectly composed.

Without hesitation he opened the door and spoke.  “Now, Bertrand!”

CHAPTER VI

MAN TO MAN

There was a quick movement in answer to the summons, and in a moment the visitor presented himself.  He had taken the false hair from his face, and his gait was no longer halting.  He looked up at Mordaunt with sharp anxiety as he came through.