"You know a man named Leithcourt?" I asked a few moments later. "Now,
tell the truth. In this affair, Olinto, our interests are mutual, are
they not?"
He nodded, after a moment's hesitation.
"And you know also a man named Archer--who is sometimes known as Hornby,
or Woodroffe--as well as a friend of his called Chater."
"Si, signore," he said. "I have met them all--to my regret."
"And have you ever met a Russian--a certain Baron Oberg--and his niece,
Elma Heath?"
"His niece? She isn't his niece."
"Then who is she?" I demanded.
"How do I know? I have seen her once or twice. But she's dead, isn't
she? She knew the secret of those men, and they intended to kill her. I
tried to prevent them taking her away on the yacht, and I would have
gone to the police--only I dare not."
"Why?"
"Well, because my own hands were not quite clean," he answered after a
pause, his eyes fixed upon mine the while. "I knew they intended to
silence her, but I was powerless to save her, poor young lady.
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