“Do you think we’ll be in time?”
“I don’t know. It would have been safer if you had let us cable the directions. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve somehow felt that the game was up,” responded Elliott.
“It’s not!” she cried. “I know it. We will be in time. We must.”
“Well, we’re doing all we can,” said Elliott. “We’re due to reach Southampton to-morrow at ten in the forenoon, and the Cape Town steamer sails the next day at noon. We’re cutting it pretty fine.”
The St. Paul arrived punctually at her dock, and her passengers scattered, most of them taking the steamer special train for London. Elliott saw Margaret established in a comfortable hotel for the day and night, and went down to the steamer offices with Bennett to see if by chance there was any telegram. There was one, and Elliott ripped it open:
“For God’s sake,” it read, “wire clue immediately. Other party at Zanzibar. Can’t wait.
“Henninger.”
Bennett read the message, and whistled low. The two men looked at each other.
“Can’t you persuade her to tell us?” Bennett asked.
“No. She’s determined to go.”
“Well, she’ll make us lose the whole thing.” He reflected a moment. “We’ll have to take it from her.”