“That is my knife,” he said.
T.X. smiled.
“You understand, of course, that I saw ‘Hussein Effendi of Durazzo’ inscribed in Arabic near the hilt.”
The Turk inclined his head.
“With this weapon,” T.X. went on, speaking with slow emphasis, “a murder was committed in this town.”
There was no sign of interest or astonishment, or indeed of any emotion whatever.
“It is the will of God,” he said calmly; “these things happen even in a great city like London.”
“It was your knife,” suggested T.X.
“But my hand was in Durazzo, Effendi,” said the Turk.
He looked at the knife again.
“So the Black Roman is dead, Effendi.”
“The Black Roman?” asked T.X., a little puzzled.
“The Greek they call Kara,” said the Turk; “he was a very wicked man.”
T.X. was up on his feet now, leaning across the table and looking at the other with narrowed eyes.
“How did you know it was Kara?” he asked quickly.
The Turk shrugged his shoulders.
“Who else could it be?” he said; “are not your newspapers filled with the story?”
T.X. sat back again, disappointed and a little annoyed with himself.
“That is true, Hussein Effendi, but I did not think you read the papers.”
“Neither do I, master,” replied the other coolly, “nor did I know that Kara had been killed until I saw this knife. How came this in your possession!”
“It was found in a rain sewer,” said T.X., “into which the murderer had apparently dropped it. But if you have not read the newspapers, Effendi, then you admit that you know who committed this murder.”
The Turk raised his hands slowly to a level with his shoulders.
“Though I am a Christian,” he said, “there are many wise sayings of my father’s religion which I remember. And one of these, Effendi, was, ‘the wicked must die in the habitations of the just, by the weapons of the worthy shall the wicked perish.’ Your Excellency, I am a worthy man, for never have I done a dishonest thing in my life. I have traded fairly with Greeks, with Italians, have with Frenchmen and with Englishmen, also with Jews. I have never sought to rob them nor to hurt them. If I have killed men, God knows it was not because I desired their death, but because their lives were dangerous to me and to mine. Ask the blade all your questions and see what answer it gives. Until it speaks I am as dumb as the blade, for it is also written that ‘the soldier is the servant of his sword,’ and also, ‘the wise servant is dumb about his master’s affairs.’”
T.X. laughed helplessly.
“I had hoped that you might be able to help me, hoped and feared,” he said; “if you cannot speak it is not my business to force you either by threat or by act. I am grateful to you for having come over, although the visit has been rather fruitless so far as I am concerned.”
He smiled again and offered his hand.
“Excellency,” said the old Turk soberly, “there are some things in life that are well left alone and there are moments when justice should be so blind that she does not see guilt; here is such a moment.”
And this ended the interview, one on which T.X. had set very high hopes. His gloom carried to Portman Place, where he had arranged to meet Belinda Mary.
“Where is Mr. Lexman going to give this famous lecture of his?” was the question with which she greeted him, “and, please, what is the subject?”
“It is on a subject which is of supreme interest to me;” he said gravely; “he has called his lecture ‘The Clue of the Twisted Candle.’ There is no clearer brain being employed in the business of criminal detection than John Lexman’s. Though he uses his genius for the construction of stories, were it employed in the legitimate business of police work, I am certain he would make a mark second to none in the world. He is determined on giving this lecture and he has issued a number of invitations. These include the Chiefs of the Secret Police of nearly all the civilized countries of the world. O’Grady is on his way from America, he wirelessed me this morning to that effect. Even the Chief of the Russian police has accepted the invitation, because, as you know, this murder has excited a great deal of interest in police circles everywhere. John Lexman is not only going to deliver this lecture,” he said slowly, “but he is going to tell us who committed the murder and how it was committed.”
She thought a moment.
“Where will it be delivered!”
“I don’t know,” he said in astonishment; “does that matter?”
“It matters a great deal,” she said emphatically, “especially if I want it delivered in a certain place. Would you induce Mr. Lexman to lecture at my house?”
“At Portman Place!” he asked.
She shook her head.
“No, I have a house of my own. A furnished house I have rented at Blackheath. Will you induce Mr. Lexman to give the lecture there?”
“But why?” he asked.
“Please don’t ask questions,” she pleaded, “do this for me, Tommy.”
He saw she was in earnest.
“I’ll write to old Lexman this afternoon,” he promised.
John Lexman telephoned his reply.
“I should prefer somewhere out of London,” he said, “and since Miss Bartholomew has some interest in the matter, may I extend my invitation to her? I promise she shall not be any more shocked than a good woman need be.”
And so it came about that the name of Belinda Mary Bartholomew was added to the selected list of police chiefs, who were making for London at that moment to hear from the man who had guaranteed the solution of the story of Kara and his killing; the unravelment of the mystery which surrounded his death, and the significance of the twisted candles, which at that moment were reposing in the Black Museum at Scotland Yard.
Chapter XX
The room was a big one and most of the furniture had been cleared out to admit the guests who had come from the ends of the earth to learn the story of the twisted candles, and to test John Lexman’s theory by their own.
They sat around chatting cheerfully of men and crimes, of great coups planned and frustrated, of strange deeds committed and undetected. Scraps of their conversation came to Belinda Mary as she stood in the chintz-draped doorway which led from the drawingroom to the room she used as a study.
“… do you remember, Sir George, the Bolbrook case! I took the man at Odessa…”
“… the curious thing was that I found no money on the body, only a small gold charm set with a single emerald, so I knew it was the girl with the fur bonnet who had…”
“… Pinot got away after putting three bullets into me, but I dragged myself to the window and shot him dead — it was a real good shot… !”
They rose to meet her and T.X. introduced her to the men. It was at that moment that John Lexman was announced.
He looked tired, but returned the Commissioner’s greeting with a cheerful mien. He knew all the men present by name, as they knew him. He had a few sheets of notes, which