The Green Eyes of Bâst. Sax Rohmer
that Coverly was the culprit. Underlying the horrible case I thought I could perceive even darker things—a mystery within a mystery; a horror overtopping horror.
I had just resumed work, then, when a boy came in to inform me that Gatton had rung up and wished to speak to me.
Half fearful of what I should hear, I went to the adjoining room and took up the receiver. Presently:
"Hullo! Is that Mr. Addison?" came Gatton's voice.
"Yes, speaking. What developments, Gatton?"
"Several. I've got the report of the estate-agent and I've seen the stage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue! You mustn't write anything until I see you, but in order to regularize things a bit I've spoken to the Chief and formally asked his permission to consult you on the case—about the Egyptian figures, you know. He remembered you at once, so it's all square. But I've got a bone to pick with you."
"What is that?"
"Never mind now. Can you meet me at the Red House at five o'clock?"
"Yes. I will be there."
"Good. I don't hope for much. It's the strangest case I ever touched. We are dealing with unusual people, not ordinary criminals."
"I agree."
"If there is any man in London who can see daylight through the mystery I believe you are the man. Do you know on what I think the whole thing turns?"
"On some undiscovered incident in Sir Marcus's past, beyond a doubt. Probably an amorous adventure."
"You're wrong," said Gatton grimly. "It turns on the figure of the green cat. Good-by. Five o'clock."
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