“He's safe at my rooms in charge of Wainwright,” I said. “He got back on the morning train, and can be had for the asking.”
“Oh, I'm so glad,” said Mrs. Knapp. “I was afraid something would happen to him, but I had to take desperate chances. Well, you see my plan succeeded. They all followed you. But when I went to the hiding-place the boy was gone. Henry had moved him weeks ago, and had died before he could tell me. Then I thought you might know more than you had told me—that Henry Wilton might have got you to help him when he made the change, and I wrote to you.”
“And the key,” I said, remembering the expression of the note, “Did you mean this diagram?”
“No,” said Mrs. Knapp. “I meant the key to our cipher code. I was looking over Henry's letters for some hint of a hiding-place and could not find the key to the cipher. I thought you might have been given one. I found mine this afternoon, though, and there was no need of it, so it didn't matter after all.”
The pitching and tossing of the boat had ceased for some minutes, and at this point the captain of the tug opened the cabin.
“Excuse me,” he said apologetically, uncertain whether to address Mrs. Knapp or me, and including us both in the question, “but where did you want to land?”
“At Broadway,” said Mrs. Knapp.
“Then you're there,” said the captain.
And, a minute later, with clang of bells and groan of engine we were at the wharf and were helped ashore.
On this side of the bay the wind had fallen, and there were signs of a break in the clouds. The darkness of the hour was dimly broken by the rays from the lines of street-lamps that stretched at intervals on both sides of Broadway, making the gloom of the place and hour even more oppressive.