The Wings of Victory by Fred M. White

During these last few days Sir Watney had not been idle. He had spent a good deal of his time in the dingy little Wardour-street establishment, giving directions to the man Jonas, until the work in hand was finished to his satisfaction. And once that was done he took Jonas on one side and told that startled individual a strange story. When the story was finished certain moneys passed between the two men, and the clever naturalist was bound to secrecy.

"Now, you quite understand," Sir Watney said. "Not one word of this must pass your lips until I give you notice to. It won't be for long, only a few days at the outside, and then you will be free to tell your story to any one. There must be at least a score of journalists in London who will be quite prepared to pay your price for it. But that will not be till afterwards. And when I say that I mean till after you have given your evidence. And, above all things, if anybody comes here asking questions, you have never seen Sir Watney Gibson. We might go a bit further and say you have never heard of him. And if anybody from the police comes here, all you have to do is to tell them to ring up 0056 Gerard, and the person at the other end of the wire will tell them everything. I don't suppose you will be bothered, because I have taken every precaution to prevent such a thing. But still, you never know.