Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/220

206 without so much as a word of help from me. He had come back to it as quietly as a homing pigeon returns to its cote. He understood, without my telling him, the precise quarter from which I had carried off that club-bag of Copperhead Kate's. And I couldn't help wondering just how much more he knew about that house.

"And how long am I to wait here?" I asked, as casually as I could.

He looked at the house-front a moment, before turning back to me. There was no longer any trace of flippancy about him.

"If I'm not back here in a reasonable length of time, I want you to telephone my man at the Harraton. He will know what to do."

"But what do you call a reasonable length of time?" I insisted. "For you know I've got to sleep some time between now and next Christmas?"

He laughed a little at that, very quietly.

"There are a few things that are worth more than sleep," he announced.

"Not to me," I retorted, for I didn't want him to think that excursion of his was troubling me as much as it did. But I scarcely believed he heard what I said, for he had turned away and was stepping quickly up the wide limestone treads.