For perhaps the first time in his life every vestige of self-control had left the master-criminal’s face and he looked like a wild beast.
“Drummond!” he shouted savagely. “Not Captain Hugh Drummond, who lives in Brook Street?”
“That’s the man,” said the Professor. “Such a nice fellow, though rather stupid. Do you know him by any chance?”
How near Professor Goodman was to a violent death at that moment it is perhaps as well he did not know. In mild perplexity he watched the other man’s face, diabolical with its expression of animal rage and fury, and wondered vaguely why the mention of Hugh Drummond’s name should have produced such a result. And it was a full minute before Mr. Robinson had recovered himself sufficiently to sit down and continue the conversation. Drummond again—always Dru
