“Hold on!” I cried. “What's wanted?”
“Oh,” said Dicky sarcastically. “You've come to life again, have you.”
“Well, I'm not dead yet.”
“Then strike a light and let us in. And take a look at that reminder you'll find wrapped around the rock I heaved through the transom. I thought it was open.” And Dicky went off into another series of chuckles in appreciation of his mistake.
“All right,” I said. I was not entirely trustful, and after I had lighted the gas-jet I picked up the stone that lay among the fragments of glass, and unwrapped the paper. The sheet bore only the words:
“At Borton's, at midnight. Richmond.”
This was the name of the agent of the Unknown, who had sent the other note. Dicky and his companion must then be protectors instead of enemies. I hastened to unlock the door, and in walked my two visitors.
The first was a young man, tall, well-made, with a shrewd, good-humored countenance, and a ready, confident air about him. I had no trouble in picking him out as the amused Dicky. The other was a black-bearded giant, who followed stolidly in the wake of the younger man.
“You've led me a pretty chase,” said Dicky. “If it hadn't been for Pork Chops here, I shouldn't have found you till the cows come home.”
“Well, what's up now?” I asked.