"And there's our secret," she cried, "the secret which we must know and which this poor negro burns to tell and it's locked up within him! Bolts and bars," she burst out, "what puny things they seem! One can break bolts, one can sever bars, but a secret buried within a man, how shall one unearth it?"
It just occurred to me that she stopped with unusual abruptness, but I was looking at the negro, I was still occupied with pity.
"Heaven send my journey does not end so vainly as his," I said solemnly. I turned to Helen and I saw that she was staring at me with a great astonishment, and concern for which I could not account.
"I have a conjecture to tell you of," said I, "I do not know that it is of value."
"Let us go downstairs," she replied, "and you shall tell me," but she spoke slowly as though she was puzzled with some other matter. As we went downstairs I heard Dick Parmiter's voice and could understand the words he said. I stopped.
"Where is Dick?"
"Most likely in the kitchen."
When we were come to the foot of the stairs I asked where the kitchen was?
"At the end of that passage across the hall," she answered.
Upon that I called Dick. I heard a door open and shut, and Dick came into the hall.