"Then why couldn't he get it?"
Barclay looked down at me; his big pitted face was illumined with
a cynical smile.
"Well, Sir Henry," he said, "'the trouble is with those last two
miles. They're water . . . straight down. The level plain is
the bed of the Atlantic ocean and that gold is in the hold of the
Titanic."
XI.-American Horses
The thing began in the colony room of the Empire Club in London.
The colony room is on the second floor and looks out over
Piccadilly Circus. It was at an hour when nobody is in an English
club. There was a drift of dirty fog outside. Such nights come
along in October.
Douglas Hargrave did not see the Baronet until he closed the door
behind him. Sir Henry was seated at a table, leaning over, his
face between his hand, and his elbows resting on the polished
mahogany board. There was a sheet of paper on the table between
the Baronet's elbows. There were a few lines written on the
paper and the man's faculties were concentrated on them. He did
not see the jewel dealer until that person was half across the
room, then he called to him.
"Hello, Hargrave," he said.
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