McGuire looked up at Peter and their glances met. McGuire's glance wavered and then came back to Peter's face. What he found there seemed to satisfy him for he turned to Stryker, who had been listening intently.
"You may go, Stryker," he commanded. "Shut the door, but stay within call."
The valet's face showed surprise and some disappointment, but he merely bowed his head and obeyed.
"I suppose you're—you're curious about this message, Nichols—coming in such a way," said McGuire, after a pause.
"To tell the truth, I am, sir," replied Peter. "We've done all we could to protect you. This 'Hawk' must be the devil himself."
"He is," repeated McGuire. "Hell's breed. The thing can't go on. I've got to put a stop to it—and to him."
"He speaks of coming again Friday night——"
"Yes—yes—Friday." And then, his fingers trembling along the placard, "I've got to do what he wants—this time—just this time——"
McGuire was gasping out the phrases as though each of them was wrenched from his throat. And then, with an effort at self-control,
"Sit down, Nichols," he muttered. "Since you've seen this, I—I'll have to tell you more. I—I think—I'll need you—to help me."