“Give it to me,” I said.
A slip of paper was thrust into my hand, and I passed up the stairs.
“I'll wait for you,” said the messenger, and at the first gas-jet that burned at the head of the stairs I stopped to read the address.
It was in the hand of the Unknown, and my fatigue and indifference were gone in a moment. I trembled as I tore open the envelope, and read:
“Follow the bearer of this note at 12:30. Come alone and armed. It is important.”
There was no signature.
If this meant anything it meant that I was to meet the Unknown, and perhaps to search the heart of the mystery. I had been heavy with fatigue and drowsy with want of sleep, but at this thought the energies of life were once more fresh within me.
With my new-found knowledge it might be more important than even the Unknown was aware, that we should meet. To me, the map, the absence of Darby Meeker and his men, the mysterious hints of murder and death that had come from the lips of Mother Borton, were but vaguely suggestive. But to the Unknown, with her full knowledge of the objects sought by the enemy and the motives that animated their ceaseless pursuit, the darkness might be luminous, the obscurity clear.
The men had waited a minute for me as I read the note.
“Go to your rooms and get some rest,” I said. “I am called away. Trent will be in charge, and I will send word to him if I need any of you.”