"I can still write down what you have to say. Consider, it is the only hope."
"I cannot judge.... I had a settled conviction that no other ear.... Stay, quick; there are the notes! Incomplete, but they will put him on the track.... Swear, swear that you will place them in his hand unread."
"I swear to do as you ask me. Go on quickly."
"To-night, now. Do not ... do not let ... do not wait...."
"Yes, yes. But the notes? Where are they? How am I to know them?" The voice was growing very thin and faltering, weaker with every word. The disappointment had sapped all its failing strength at a single blow.
"The notes ... yes. You will explain.... The black wall ... how it towers!..." He was whispering inaudibly.
Hampden leaned over the dying man in a final effort.
"Flak!" he cried, "the notes on the Unity League! Where are they? Speak!"
"The envelope"—he caught a breath of sound—"... coat lining.... I must go!"
Twenty minutes later Sir John picked up his motor brougham in New Oxford Street. He had telephoned immediately on leaving Paradise Buildings for it to start out at once and wait for him near Mudie's corner. In Paradise Street he had seen a bacchanalian group surrounding "Mrs Flak," high priestess, who chanted a song in praise of home and the domestic virtues. It was at this point that he missed the ghoul-child from his side.