He cast a rapid glance at the Boule cabinet, at the secret drawer
standing open, empty; and then his eyes rested upon Grady.
"So he got away with it, did he?" he inquired.
"Who in hell do you think you are?" shouted Grady, his face purple,
"coming in here like this? Get out, or I'll have you thrown out!"
"Oh, I'll go," retorted Godfrey coolly. "I've seen all I care to see.
Only I'll tell you one thing, Grady--you've signed your own
death-warrant to-night!"
"What do you mean by that?" Grady demanded, in a lower tone.
"I mean that you won't last an hour after the story of this night's
work gets out."
Grady's colour slowly faded as he met the burning and contemptuous
gaze Godfrey turned upon him. As for me, an awful fear had gripped my
heart.
"Do you mean to say it wasn't Piggott?" stammered Grady, at last.
Godfrey laughed scornfully.
"No, you blithering idiot!" he said. "It wasn't Pigot. It was
Crochard himself!"
And he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE FATE OF M. PIGOT
Whatever may have been Grady's defects of insight and imagination, he
was energetic enough when thoroughly aroused. Almost before the echo
of that slamming door had died away, he was beside the sergeant's
desk.
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