"Steppe is a scoundrel and nobody knows that better than yourself. Why are you in any danger from the law? Because you copied a draft prospectus which Steppe drew up and issued it in your own name. Steppe has only to appear as a witness and tell the truth, and he would find himself in your place--supposing this comes to a prosecution. But he won't. He could have saved--" He stopped. "Ambrose Sault?" "He could have saved the body of Ambrose Sault from annihilation by a word! The draft of the prospectus is in existence. It is in the safe that Sault made. Steppe could open it and ninety-nine hundredths of your responsibility would be wiped out. But he won't risk his own skin." "You think they will prosecute, John?" Maxton considered. There was nothing to be gained by evasion. "I am sure they will," he said quietly, "if I were the Public Prosecutor I should apply for a warrant on the facts as I know them." The door opened. "Will you see two gentlemen from Whitehall?" the maid asked. It was Maxton who nodded. "Bertram--you have to meet this ordeal--courageously." The doctor got up as the detectives entered. "I am Detective Inspector Lord, from Scotland Yard," said the first of them, "you are Dr. Bertram Merville? I have to take you into custody on a charge of misrepresentation under the Companies Act." "Very good," said Dr. Merville, "may I go to my room for a moment?" "No sir," said the inspector. "I understand you keep a medicine chest in your room." Maxton nodded approvingly. He did not go to the police station with the prisoner. He went in search of Beryl--and Jan Steppe. XV Ronald Morelle on the hearthrug before his electric radiator watched the fiery little wave that moved along the surface of the element. In such moments of complete detachment, when his mind was free from the encumbrance of active thought, he received strange impressions. They were not memories, he told himself, any more than are those faces which grow and fade in the darkness just between sleeping and waking. They were whisps of dreams that were born and dissolved in a fraction of time. He had seen such clouds grow instantly above the lake of Geneva, and watching them from the terraces of Caux, had of a sudden missed them, even as he watched. So these impressions appeared and vanished. There was one that was distinct and more frequent than any other. It was of a hut, long and narrow. Two broad sloping benches ran down each side and these, at night, were packed with sleeping men. The door to the hut was very solid and was locked by a soldier--he could sometimes hear the swish of the soldier's boots as he paced the gravel path surrounding the hut. Once a man had died--Ronnie helped to carry him out. It was a plague that had struck the island--island? Yes, it was an island, in the tropics, for the nights were very hot and the plants luxurious. "There is a ring--will M'sieur require me?" "Yes, stay, François."