IV
The fisherman on the end of the Old Pier¹ cast in his line and reeled itcautiously in.
“No doubt whatever, I’m afraid,” he said.
“You know,” said Tommy, “I’m sorry about it. He’s—well, he’s a nicechap.”
“They are, my dear fellow, they usually are. It isn’t the skunks² and therats of a land who volunteer to go to the enemy’s country. It’s the bravemen. We know that well enough. But there it is, the case is proved.”
“No doubt whatever, you say?”
“No doubt at all. Among his chemical formulae was a list of people inthe factory to be approached, as possible Fascist³ sympathisers. There wasalso a very clever scheme of sabotage⁴ and a chemical process that, appliedto fertilisers, would have devastated⁵ large areas of food stocks. All well upMaster Carl’s street.”
Rather unwillingly⁶, Tommy said, secretly anathematising Tuppence,who had made him promise to say it:
“I suppose it’s not possible that these things could have been planted onhim?”
Mr. Grant smiled, rather a diabolical⁷ smile.
“Oh,” he said. “Your wife’s idea, no doubt.”
“Well—er—yes, as a matter of fact it is.”
“He’s an attractive lad,” said Mr. Grant tolerantly.
Then he went on:
“No, seriously, I don’t think we can take that suggestion into account.
He’d got a supply of secret ink, you know. That’s a pretty good clinchingtest. And it wasn’t obvious as it would have been if planted. It wasn’t ‘Themixture to be taken when required’ on the wash handstand, or anythinglike that. In fact, it was damned ingenious. Only came across the methodonce before, and then it was waistcoat buttons. Steeped in the stuff, youknow. When the fellow wants to use it, he soaks a button in water. Carlvon Deinim’s wasn’t buttons. It was a shoelace. Pretty neat.”

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