"Why, Mr. Marlin," Locke smiled, "it's only some one coming to the boathouse. That's quite natural. There's nothing to cause you alarm in that. But just to set your mind at rest we'll go and see who it is."
"No, no!" whispered Mr. Marlin fiercely. "No one must know that I suspect anything. I can elude them--they're around on the other side now. You stay here. Don't move! I'm going now. But remember! To-morrow night! You will remember?"
"Yes; of course, Mr. Marlin," Locke replied soothingly.
"And not a word about it! No one must know! Keep silent! You will see! You will see! But I must be quick now! I will elude them. Keep silent--not a word!"
The old man was running at top speed along the verandah.
Locke leaned against the railing, his face strangely set, as he watched the flying figure cross the bridge, and, with head constantly jerking around to peer first over one shoulder and then the other, disappear finally along the shore.
"Good Lord!" muttered Locke to himself again. "And this morning he appeared to be as sane as I am!" He frowned suddenly. "Queer obsession, that--of being constantly watched! Since last night! I wonder!"
He straightened up abruptly, and drew a letter from his pocket. He read it slowly, carefully, several times, as though almost he were memorising it; and then he began to tear it into little pieces.
"I guess it's safer," he confided to himself; and then with a grim smile: "Perhaps it's just as well I didn't have anything like this with me that night on board ship!"
He threw the pieces over into the water, but one fluttered back through the railing. And, staring at this, he laughed a little shortly as his eyes deciphered the typewritten fragment on the verandah floor:
ll reports approved. Use w Scotland Yard fully pre
He picked it up, tore it into minute shreds, searched carefully to make sure there were no other wayward scraps, and then started slowly back along the verandah to rejoin Polly Wickes.
His mind seemed in confusion, coherence smothered in a multitude of thoughts that impinged one upon the other, each vociferating its right to sole consideration. There was Newcombe and that smoking room scene on the liner, and a letter advising about a half-million dollars, and a madman, and--no--there was something else, something that was gradually gaining priority over the rest. Yes--Polly Wickes! Well, Polly Wickes, then ... a flower girl in London ... a lady four years later in America ... how old had she been when this had happened ... how old had she been ... confound it, what did he mean by that ... what did he mean ... she couldn't have been more than a child ... a mere child....