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In the fewest possible words he outlined the course of his investigations. "And now you know all that is to be known until Drishna arrives." "But will he come?" questioned Carlyle doubtfully. "He may be suspicious." "Yes, he will be suspicious." "Then he will not come." "On the contrary, Louis, he will come because my letter will make him suspicious.
"You hardly imagine that I have not considered this eventuality, do you?" "All the same," murmured the ex-lawyer, "I should like to have a jury behind me. It is one thing to execute a man morally; it is another to do it almost literally." "Is that all right?" asked Drishna, passing across the letter he had written. Carrados smiled at this tribute to his perception.
"That does not matter in the least. It will be put down to an hallucination and taken as showing the state of your mind." "But what guarantee have we that he will not escape?" whispered Mr. Carlyle. "He cannot escape," replied Carrados tranquilly. "His identity is too clear." "I have no intention of trying to escape," put in Drishna, as he wrote.
The disadvantages of spreading it broadcast immeasurably outweigh the benefits." "I have considered," announced Drishna. "I will do as you wish." "Very well," said Carrados. "Here is some plain notepaper. You had better write a letter to someone saying that the financial difficulties in which you are involved make life unbearable." "But there are no financial difficulties now."
"You are a thief, Mr. Carrados. I will not stay any longer here." He jumped up and turned towards the door. Carlyle made a step forward, but the precaution was unnecessary. "One moment, Mr. Drishna," interposed Carrados, in his smoothest tones. "It is a pity, after you have come so far, to leave without hearing of my investigations in the neighbourhood of Shaftesbury Avenue."
Carlyle, with emotion, "is there any reason why you should not send your man for a police officer and have this monster arrested on his own confession without further delay?" "Pray do so, Mr. Carrados," acquiesced Drishna.
"I haven't the faintest idea," admitted Carrados, and Mr. Carlyle was throwing up his hands in despair when the sound of a motor-car wheels softly kissing the gravel surface of the drive outside brought him to his feet. "By Gad, you are right, Max!" he exclaimed, peeping through the curtains. "There is a man inside." "Mr. Drishna," announced Parkinson a minute later.
The man who tampered with the signal for Hutchins was right and a green light was exhibited is a young Indian from Bengal. His name is Drishna and he lives at Swanstead." Mr. Carlyle stared at his friend between sheer surprise and blank incredulity. "You really mean this, Carrados?" he said. "My fatal reputation for humour!" smiled Carrados. "If I am wrong, Louis, the next hour will expose it."
Drishna sat down again. "As you like," he muttered. "It does not interest me." "I wanted to obtain a lamp of a certain pattern," continued Carrados. "It seemed to me that the simplest explanation would be to say that I wanted it for a motor-car. Naturally I went to Long Acre.
"Have you ever reflected what human beings will think of us a hundred years hence?" "Oh, of course I'm not really in favour of hanging," admitted Mr. Carlyle. "Nobody really is. But we go on hanging. Mr. Drishna is a dangerous animal who for the sake of pacific animals must cease to exist. Let his barbarous exploit pass into oblivion with him.
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