He drew from a chain inside his vest a small case, almost identical to the one that Abell had just handed to him, save that it was silver, while the other was brass. On it were the same queer signs and symbols.
"That will convince my friend that the puzzle is intact," he continued. "We hold the key to the enigma—nay, the key to the past and future. But all this is so much Greek to you. I will come and see my friend on Friday; but not in the guise of Ralph Ravenspur."
"What am I to understand by that, sir?" Abell asked.
"It matters nothing what you understand," Ralph cried. "Tchigorsky will know. Tell him 7:15 at Euston on Friday, not in the guise of Ravenspur or Tchigorsky. He will read between the lines. Go and be seen with me no more."
Ralph strode off with his head in the air. His blood was singing in his ears; his pulse was leaping with a new life.
"At last," he murmured; "after all these years for myself and my kin! At last!"
CHAPTER VII MORE LIGHT
There was a curious, eager flush on Ralph Ravenspur's face. He rose from his seat and paced the room restlessly. Those long fingers were incessantly clutching at something vague and unseen. And, at the same time, he was following the story that Geoffrey had to tell with the deepest attention.