“No one could have known beforehand that she was going to be in that house—much less that particular room.”
“That’s so,” admitted Julius. “Then one of the nurses was a crook and listened at the door. How’s that?”
“I don’t see that it matters anyway,” said Tommy wearily. “He may have found out some months ago, and removed the papers, then——No, by Jove, that won’t wash! They’d have been published at once.”
“Sure thing they would! No, some one’s got ahead of us to-day by an hour or so. But how they did it gets my goat.”
“I wish that chap Peel Edgerton had been with us,” said Tommy thoughtfully.
“Why?” Julius stared. “The mischief was done when we came.”
“Yes——” Tommy hesitated. He could not explain his own feeling—the illogical idea that the K.C.‘s presence would somehow have averted the catastrophe. He reverted to his former point of view. “It’s no good arguing about how it was done. The game’s up. We’ve failed. There’s only one thing for me to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Get back to London as soon as possible. Mr. Carter must be warned. It’s only a matter of hours now before the blow falls. But, at any rate, he ought to know the worst.”
The duty was an unpleasant one, but Tommy had no intention of shirking it. He must report his failure to Mr. Carter. After that his work was done. He took the midnight mail to London. Julius elected to stay the night at Holyhead.