CHAPTER VII
SLADESlade was in no hurry to make his appearance. For twenty minutes French sat in the little room, growing momentarily more impatient. Then the door opened and Slade lounged in.
“Sorry to keep you and all that,” he murmured. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did, sir, but before I state my business I should tell you who I am.” He handed over an official card.
“I know who you are,” Slade returned, scarcely glancing at the card. “You’re the Scotland Yard man. I heard about you next door.”
“Then,” said French, “you know my business. I’m investigating the disappearance of Dr. Earle, and I called to ask you to kindly give me any information you may have which might help me.”
“Not easy when I haven’t any.”
“You may unwittingly have some, sir, and it is that I want to get hold of.”
