him," I said. "I feel somehow that in face of the strange facts within
my knowledge that he can give me the clue to the cause of his master's
death."

Graham smiled. He seemed to regard me as a person whose mind was not
quite sound. But I will give him his due. He propitiated me, and
promised to get into touch with Oscar Folcker. By virtue of the wide
ramifications of the firm by which Graham was employed, I knew that it
would be an easy matter, hence I was not surprised when next day he
rang me up on the telephone to my hotel and told me that he had been
able to find the valet Folcker who would call upon me at six o'clock
that evening.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH

WHAT THE VALET KNEW

At the time appointed, as I stood in the hall, a tall, clean-shaven,
rather spruce young man entered and spoke to the concierge, who at
once brought him over to me.

I took him into a corner of the lounge, and when we were seated I told
him of my suspicions and my quest.

Like many Swedes he spoke English, and in reply said:

"Well, sir, I was in the Baron's service for five years, and I knew
his habits very well. He was an excellent master--most kind and
generous, and with him I have travelled Europe up and down. We were
very often in London, where the Baron had bachelor chambers in Jermyn
Street."

"I know that," I said. "But tell me what you know, and what you
suspect concerning his untimely end."

"There was foul play, sir!" he said unhesitatingly. "The Baron was a
strong healthy man who lived frugally, and though he dealt in millions
of francs, yet he was most quiet in his habits, and his boast was that
he was never out of bed after half-past ten. Though very rich he
devoted nearly half his income yearly to charitable institutions. I
know the extent of his contributions to the needy, for I have often
seen him draw the cheques."

"Well--tell me exactly what happened," I asked.

"The affair presents some very puzzling features, sir," he replied.
"One morning, while dressing, my master told me that he had to motor
to The Hague as he wished to meet in strict secrecy a man who would
call to see him at a little hotel called the Rhijn, in the Oranje
Straat. He asked me to drive him there so that Mullard, the chauffeur,
should have no knowledge of the visit. This I promised to do, for I
can drive a car. We arrived early in the afternoon, and the Baron, who
was unknown at the obscure little place, ordered lunch for us bot