“You forget that I haven't the first idea where the boy is hidden,” I returned.
“Oh, Lord, yes! I reckon my mind's going,” grunted Mother Borton. “But I'm afeard of their knives for ye.”
“I wish I could give warning,” said I, much disturbed by the information. “The protector of the boy ought to know about this. I'm afraid I have done wrong.”
Mother Borton looked at me fixedly.
“Don't you worry, my dear. She'll know about it all right.”
Again the feeling stole over me that this woman knew more than she told. But I knew that it was useless to question her directly. I considered a moment, and then decided to trust her with a secret which might surprise her into admitting her knowledge.
“I suspect that she knows already. I got a note to-night,” said I, drawing from my pocket the envelope I had received from the Unknown.
Mother Borton seized it, looked for a moment at the firm, delicate hand of the address, and drew out the sheet that it inclosed.
“Read it, dearie,” she said, handing it back after a scrutiny. “I can't tell anything but big print.”
I suspected that Mother Borton was trying to deceive me, but I repeated the words of the note: