But--" and here he hesitated.
"Well?"
"There's the other gentleman, sir. Mr. Collingwood _did_ mention--"
"Oh, did he?" I cut in. "It was silly, maybe, to have forgotten him
all this time--I'm a sound sleeper; and even when awake my mind moves
slowly. But who the Hades is this other gentleman?"
"When arrested, sir, he gave his name as Martin Frobisher," said the
constable with just a tremor of the eyelids, "and his address as
North-West Passage; he wouldn't say more definitely. At the station
he asked leave to correct this, and said that his real name was
Martin Luther, a foreigner, but naturalised for years, and we should
find his papers at the Reform Club, S.W."
"I don't seem to have met either of these Martins--or not in life,"
I said thoughtfully.
"Well, sir, if you ask _me_," he agreed, "I should be surprised if
you had; for between ourselves, as it were, I don't believe he's
either of his alleged Martins. And the Station don't think much of
his names and addresses."
"Does _he_ want to be bailed out, too?" I asked.
"He didn't ask it.
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