“Here,” he cried excitedly, “try on these. I must 73 be off again in a hurry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long, but we’ll make up the time in the machine.”
He tossed out a soft felt hat and blue serge suit. Wilson struggled into the clothes. Save that the trousers were a bit short, the things fitted well enough. At any rate, he looked more respectable than in a lounging robe. The latter he cast aside, and as he did so something fell from it. It was a roll of parchment. Wilson had forgotten all about it, and now thrust it in an inside pocket. He would give it back to Sorez, for very possibly it was of some value. He had not thought of it since it had rolled out of the hollow image.
Danbury led the way out the door as soon as Wilson had finished dressing. The latter felt in one of the vest pockets and drew out a ten dollar bill. He stared from Danbury to the money.
“Tuck it away, man, tuck it away,” said Danbury.
“I can’t tell you–––”
“Don’t. Don’t want to hear it. By the way, you’d better make a note of the location of this house in case you need to find me again. Three hundred and forty Bellevue,––remember it? Here, take my card and write it down.”
It took them twenty minutes to reach the foot of Beacon street, and here Wilson asked him to stop.
“I’ve got to begin my hunt from here. I wish I could make you understand how more than grateful I am.”
“Don’t waste the time. Here’s wishing you luck and let me know how you come out, will you?”