"And if I did? What then?" I asked, speaking boldly in a clear voice, my eyes fixed upon his, for remember I was fighting for knowledge of my dear wife's whereabouts. "Well--if you did," was his deliberate reply, "it would be you yourself that would suffer, Mr. Holford, and no one else." Was it not astounding, startling? This doctor, the bosom friend of Ethelwynn's lover, had given me exactly the same threatening reply as Antonio had given me on the Pincian in Rome. What could it mean? The reason why the false Professor was avoiding friends and enemies alike was, of course, sufficiently plain to me. But for what reason was my well-beloved Mabel, the loving wife whom I adored, held in the unscrupulous hands of those who killed Professor Greer? And why was every effort of mine to discover her met only by threats of impending disaster? I gazed at the two men before me in silent defiance. If it cost me my own life I intended to discover her and hold her dear form once again in my arms. She was mine--mine before God and before man; and these persons seeking for some mysterious motive to shield the false Professor should not further stand in the way of justice. "You think I dare not go to the police!" I cried at last. "Very well, if you care to come with me to Scotland Yard now--for I am going straight there--I will, in the presence of both of you, unfold a strange tale which they'll be very much surprised to hear." "You believe you know the truth!" laughed Langton. "No, my dear Holford. Don't be such a fool! The police cannot help in this affair, for the mystery is far too complicated. Keep your own counsel." "Yes," I sneered, "and depend upon the man of whom you have denied all knowledge--the man Kershaw Kirk." "Kershaw Kirk!" gasped the doctor, and I saw that he went pale, his dark eyes starting from his head. "Do you know him? Is he--is he your friend, Mr. Holford--or--_or your enemy_?" CHAPTER NINETEEN. GWEN REVEALS SOMETHING. It struck me that this keen-eyed, crafty-faced, round-shouldered specialist in diseases of the throat intended to profit by information derived from me regarding the mysterious Kirk. Why, I did not know. We all of us have at times a strange intuition of impending evil, one that we cannot account for and cannot describe. Recollect, I was only just an ordinary man, a hard-working industrious dealer in motor-cars, a man who made a fair income, who was no romancer, and was entirely devoted to his wife, who had, ever since his marriage, been his best friend and adviser. The Professor was a scientist, I remembered, and this man Hamilton Flynn was apparently a doctor of some note. Could there be any connection between the pair, I wondered. Flynn, Langton's most intimate friend, was no doubt aware of much, if not all, that transpired in the Professor's household. That he knew Kershaw Kirk was apparent by his surprise when I mentioned his name.