She listened with an ever-increasing eagerness, which rose to positive excitement as he reached the climax of the story.
“My word!” she cried with shining eyes when he had finished. “To think of such things happening here in sober old London in the twentieth century! Why, it’s like the Arabian Nights! Who would believe such a story if they read it in a book? What fun! And you have no idea what the tracing was?”
“No more than you have, Miss Merrill.”
“It was a cipher,” she declared breathlessly. “A cipher telling where there was buried treasure! Isn’t that all that is wanted to make it complete?”
“Now you’re laughing at me,” he complained. “Don’t you really believe my story?”
“Believe it?” she retorted. “Of course I believe it. How can you suggest such a thing? I think it’s perfectly splendid! I can’t say how splendid I think it. It was brave of you to go into that house in the way you did. I can’t think how you had the nerve. But now what are you going to do? What is the next step?”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought and thought while I was in that blessed hospital and I don’t see the next move. What would you advise?”
“I? Oh, Mr. Cheyne, I couldn’t advise you. I’m thrilled more than I can say, but I don’t know enough for that.”
“Would you give up and go to the police?”
“Never.” Her eyes flashed. “I’d go on and fight the gang. You’ll win yet, Mr. Cheyne. Something tells me.”