not in any way disclose your identity?”
Tommy shook his head.
“That’s so,” said Julius with a nod. “Therefore I reckon some one put them
wise–and not earlier than Sunday afternoon.”
“Yes, but who?”
“That almighty omniscient Mr. Brown, of course!”
There was a faint note of derision in the American’s voice which made Sir
James look up sharply.
“You don’t believe in Mr. Brown, Mr. Hersheimmer?”
“No, sir, I do not,” returned the young American with emphasis. “Not as
such, that is to say. I reckon it out that he’s a figurehead–just a bogy name
to frighten the children with. The real head of this business is that Russian
chap Kramenin. I guess he’s quite capable of running revolutions in three
countries at once if he chose! The man Whittington is probably the head of the
English branch.”
“I disagree with you,” said Sir James shortly. “Mr. Brown exists.” He
turned to Tommy. “Did you happen to notice where that wire was handed in?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“H’m. Got it with you?”
“It’s upstairs, sir, in my kit.”
“I’d like to have a look at it sometime. No hurry. You’ve wasted a
week”–Tommy hung his head–“a day or so more is immaterial. We’ll deal with
Miss Jane Finn first. Afterwards, we’ll set to work to rescue Miss Tuppence
from bondage. I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger. That is, so long as
they don’t know that we’ve got Jane Finn, and that her memory has returned. We
must keep that dark at all costs. You understand?”
The other two assented, and, after making arrangements for meeting on the
morrow, the great lawyer took his leave.
At ten o’clock, the two young men were at the appointed spot. Sir James had
joined them on the doorstep. He alone appeared unexcited. He introduced them to
the doctor.
“Mr. Hersheimmer–Mr. Beresford–Dr. Roylance. How’s the patient?”
“Going on well. Evidently no idea of the flight of time. Asked this
morning how many had been saved from the Lusitania. Was it in the papers yet?
That, of course, was only what was to be expected. She seems to have something
on her mind, though.”
“I think we can relieve her anxiety. May we go up?”
“Certainly.”
Tommy’s heart beat sensibly faster as they followed the doctor upstairs.
Jane Finn at last! The long-sought, the mysterious, the elusive Jane Finn! How
wildly improbable success had seemed! And here in this house, her memory almost
miraculously restored, lay the girl who held the future of England in her hands.
A half groan broke from Tommy’s lips. If only Tuppence could have been at his
side to share in the triumphant conclusion of their joint venture! Then he put
the thought of Tuppence resolutely aside. His confidence in Sir James was
growing. There was a man who would unerringly ferret out Tuppence’s whereabouts.
In the meantime Jane Finn! And suddenly a dread clutched at his heart. It
seemed too easy…. Suppose they should find her dead … stricken down by the
hand of Mr. Brown?
In another minute he was laughing at these melodramatic fancies. The doctor
held open the door of a room and they passed in. On the white bed, bandages
round her head, lay the girl. Somehow the whole scene seemed unreal. It was so
exactly what one expected that it gave the effect of being beautifully staged.
The girl looked from one to the other of them with large wondering eyes.
Sir James spoke first.
“Miss Finn,” he said, “this is your cousin, Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer.”
A faint flush flitted over the girl’s face, as Julius stepped forward and
took her hand.
“How do, Cousin Jane?” he said lightly.
But Tommy caught the tremor in his voice.
“Are you really Uncle Hiram’s son?” she asked wonderingly.
Her voice, with the slight warmth of the Western accent, had an almost
thrilling quality. It seemed vaguely familiar to Tommy, but he thrust the
impression aside as impossible.
“Sure thing.”
“We used to read about Uncle Hiram in the papers,” continued the girl, in
her low soft tones. “But I never thought I’d meet you one day. Mother figured
it out that Uncle Hiram would never get over being mad with her.”