“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to,” I said, by way of encouraging him.
“I fancy that this is a young man we should all be very glad to lay our hands on.”
“Not——?” I cried, in rising excitement.
He nodded.
“Harry Rayburn, alias Harry Lucas—that’s his real name, you know. He’s given us all the slip once more, but we’re bound to rope him in soon.”
“Dear me, dear me,” I murmured.
“We don’t suspect the girl of complicity in any case. On her side it’s—just a love-affair.”
I always did think Race was in love with Anne. The way he said those last words made me feel sure of it.
“She’s gone to Beira,” he continued rather hastily.