information were withheld. Could all this, I could not help wondering,
be mere coincidence? Then on the top of it came that extraordinary
telegram sent to Dulcie from London, with my name attached to it.

Jack, however, had not done relating his adventures, so I turned again
to listen to him.

"A third thing the fellow asked," he said, "was the name of Hugo
Salmonsteiner's bankers--Salmonsteiner the millionaire timber-merchant
whose son was out big-game shooting with me a year ago. It seemed an
absurd question, for surely it must be easy to find out who any man's
bankers are, but still he asked me, and appeared to be most anxious
that I should tell him. Oh, but there were scores of other questions,
all much on the same lines, and tending to extract from me information
of a peculiar kind."

"Did you answer any of them?" Easterton asked.

"Answer them? Why, of course--all of 'em. I didn't want to remain here
in durance vile an hour longer than I could help, I can assure you. But
naturally my answers were--well, 'inaccurate,' to say the least. I had
to word them very carefully, though, or the fellow would have caught me
out. He suspected that I might be misleading him, I think, for once or
twice he put questions which might have unmasked me if I had not been on
my guard when answering them. Really we pitted our brains and cunning
against each other's all the time, and, if I may say so without
boasting, I think my cunning won."

"Then why were you not released?" I said.