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Updated: June 25, 2025
"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, "but I've got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to interfere with my orders!" It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw. "I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
"Maybe not," retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to her charge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte what the silver box contained but the latter may have found out, at least the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think the same.
Strangwise, we know, has lost the jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we know that, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it. Therefore, she cannot have sent it away!
On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing back to Nur-el-Din. Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the Chief's confidence.
"All right, Martha," said Desmond, "see that the spare room is ready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall want you to take this lady to her room." The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Nur-el-Din exclaimed: "You know me; hein!" Desmond bowed in the most correct Continental manner.
"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!" Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper.
There was some excellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She had dropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed to lay herself out to please.
It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminated by an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside a chintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of the dying fire. On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep. When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full of people. Mr.
Was Mortimer's the guiding hand of this network of conspiracy? "I've trusted you, Monsieur," Nur-el-Din continued in a pleading voice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide me from this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?" Desmond felt strangely moved.
"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord," said the Chief, bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary, Admiral!" Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of the package entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance from her bedroom on the night of the murder.
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