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Updated: June 25, 2025
Levendale if not dead could scarcely fail to see that! Five minutes after Ayscough had gone away with Dr. Mirandolet the hotel servant who had summoned him from Purdie's sitting-room knocked at the door for the second time and put a somewhat mystified face inside.
"Case of have to, I reckon!" Levendale turned once more to the Japanese, who smiled on him. "Look you here, Mr. Yada," said Levendale, "I don't know who you are beyond what I'm told your card tells me nothing except that you live lodge, I suppose in Gower Street. You've got mixed up in this, somehow, and you've got knowledge to dispose of.
So as I still think all our theories were correct, and the only thing to do was to find Chang." But here Levendale paused, glanced at Stephen Purvis, and spread out his hands with a gesture which indicated failure and disappointment. His glance moved from Stephen Purvis to the police officials. "All no good!" he exclaimed. "It's useless to deny it.
The morning after Mr. Multenius's death, and after you, Mr. Lauriston, Mr. Rubinstein, and myself called on Levendale, Levendale went off to the City in his car. He ordered the chauffeur to go through Hyde Park, by the Victoria Gate, and to stop by the Powder Magazine. At the Powder Magazine he got out of the car and walked down towards the bridge on the Serpentine.
Now, I don't buy unless I know first what it is I'm buying. So let's know what you've got to sell?" Yada swept the room with a glance. "Before these gentlemen?" he asked. "In open market, eh?" "They're all either police, or detectives, or concerned," retorted Levendale. "There's no secret. I repeat what have you got to sell? Specify it!"
We were at this affair nearly all yesterday afternoon with that little Jew fellow, Rubinstein, and the young Scotch gentleman, Mr. Purdie, and our conclusion is that there's something of a big sort behind old Multenius's death. There's a regular web of mystery! The old man's death that book, which Levendale did not leave in the 'bus, in spite of all he says, and of his advertisements!
This connection of Levendale with my late client as undoubted as it seems to have been secret needs investigation. According to Mr. Purdie here Levendale has suddenly disappeared or, at any rate, left home under mysterious circumstances. Has that disappearance anything to do with Multenius's death? Has it anything to do with the death of this next door man, Parslett, last night?
He passed the man from New Scotland Yard without so much as a wink: he ignored Levendale and Stephen Purvis; he stared blankly at Purdie and Lauriston, and led his companion to two vacant seats near the counter. And they had only just dropped into them when in came Mr. Killick, with John Purvis and Guyler and slipped quietly into seats in the middle of the room.
Killick, who had listened to Ayscough with close attention, laughed, and turned to the officials with a sharp look. "Shall I give you people a bit of my opinion after hearing all this?" he said. "Very well, then Levendale never did send that wire! It was sent in Levendale's name to keep things quiet. I believe that Levendale's been trapped and Purvis with him!"
He glanced at the two men as if he had never seen them in his life, and they, preserving equally stolid expressions with credit if not with the detective's ready and trained ability, passed further on only to recognize Levendale and Stephen Purvis, who had found accommodation in a quiet corner half-way down the room.
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