"Read that," he demanded.
Balcom read, controlling his features admirably, if control were
necessary.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, coldly.
"Were you in Madagascar lately?" shot back Locke.
Locke could not be sure whether or not Balcom suppressed a start. At any
rate, he did not conceal anger at the insinuation.
"Certainly," he replied. "With my son I cruised through the Mozambique
Channel and touched at Madagascar last summer. Why?"
Locke nodded and the detective made a note of the reply.
"What do you mean to insinuate by that question?" demanded Balcom.
Without reply Locke shrugged nonchalantly and smiled.
Not ten feet away, in the conservatory door, Paul listened, and his face
darkened as he clenched his fists.
There was a murderous glare in Paul's eyes as Locke unconcernedly
withdrew, whispering to the detective, who nodded deferentially to the
young scientist who had been assigned by the Department of Justice,
strangely, to the very case which now he realized in some unknown way
must concern himself and the very mystery of his own identity.
So wore along the morning, with growing mystery and excitement.
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