Donald Lane was the only man in the room who moved; there was a sudden choking sensation in his throat, and his fingers sought and tugged at his collar-band. He stared at the two men at the table.
“It’s a lie!” shouted Monsieur Faradeau. “It’s a lie!”
“Quite a famous establishment!” observed Henry Walton, with an ironical smile. “You’ve chosen quite the most famous jewellers in Europe, I should say!”
“It’s a lie!” repeated Monsieur Faradeau violently. “Monsieur Crane, there, knows quite well where these things came from. They were sent to him by his friend Monsieur Martin Todd.”
Donald Lane heard a voice speak quietly from behind him.
“I am Martin Todd,” it said.
Lane swung sharply around. It was the third man who had been outside on the verandah.
Monsieur Faradeau’s jaw dropped.
“
