Again he turned the problem over in his mind.
“Have you any documents in Portuguese or in English . . . any letters from your father about Angola?”
“None,” she said. “The only reference my father ever made to Bishaka was that he was getting a lot of information which he thought would be valuable, and that he was a little troubled because his cameras, which he had fixed in various parts of the country to cover every sector of the skies, were being disturbed by wandering prospectors.”
“He said that, did he?” asked Mr. Lee eagerly. “Come now, that explains a great deal!”
In spite of herself she laughed.
“It doesn’t explain much to me, Mr. Lee,” she said frankly. And then, in a more serious tone: “Did Barberton come from Angola?”
“Yes, Barberton came from that country,” he said in a lower voice. “I should like to tell you”—he hesitated—“but I am rather afraid.”
“Afraid to tell me? Why?”
He shook his head.
“So many dreadful things have happened recently to poor Barberton and others, that knowledge seems a most dangerous thing. I wish I could believe that it would not be dangerous to you,” he added kindly, “and then I could speak what is in my mind and relieve myself of a great deal of anxiety.” He rose slowly. “I think the best thing I can do is to consult my lawyer. I was foolish to keep it from him so long. He is the only man I can trust to search my documents.”