within a short time of each other two men whose
names were ones to conjure with in international finance had both
died!

The valet's story I did not doubt. I knew that such men as the late
Baron were often compelled, in their own interests, to receive visits
from mysterious and often undesirable persons, most of whom were paid
for their information. Every giant of finance employs his secret
agents, whose duty it is to keep his principal informed of the
various political and other secrets in Europe. Indeed, the great
financiers know more of the underground currents of foreign politics
than they do at any Embassy or Ministry of Foreign Affairs. It is
their duty to know the secrets of nations--and they profit upon their
knowledge.

I sat ruminating. The sudden deaths of the two pillars of finance was,
to say the least, a curious coincidence. I recollected that Chamartin
had been associated with De Gex, and the object of the latter's
journey to Madrid had apparently been to interview his dead friend's
widow. I also remembered Professor Vega's description of the deadly
effect of that secret poison orosin--that it might cause almost
instant death, and that all doctors would attribute the cause to heart
failure.

This caused me to ponder for a long time. I read and re-read the
report of the Baron's death, and when I retired to bed--Harry not
having yet returned--I could not sleep, so haunted was I by vague
suspicions.

Next day I found that I could not apply myself to work at the office,
so gave it up and once more wandered towards Hyde Park Corner and up
Park Lane where again I passed through Stretton Street. The blinds of
the big dark mansion were all lowered, indicating that its owner was
still out of town. Yet I knew that he was living in the half darkness
of that closed house.

Why?

Several days passed when, unable to rest, I at last asked leave of
absence from old Mr. Francis, and crossed by the night-boat from
Harwich to the Hook of Holland. On the following day I found myself in
quaint old Amsterdam, that city built upon the sand in defiance of a
certain text in St. Matthew, the city with its great network of
canals, and its many gaudily-painted barges. As I left my hotel and
walked to the Dam, the central square of the city, my nostrils were
saluted upon one side by the perfume of the flowers adorning the
windows and the odour of cook-shops, while on the other was the smell
of tar and the fumes of the humb