“I tell you once more, sir, I may be wrong; but Bruno seems to have found the clue I sought in vain.”
“Clue?—what clue?”
“We have been searching for the man who called himself George Harrington.”
“You have, sir. I have not.”
“Well, I have. It may sound romantic and strange, but at the present moment I have a horrible dread that we have found him at last.”
“What do you mean—where?”
For answer George Harrington pointed to the wall.
“What?” ejaculated the old man, in a hoarse whisper, and he caught at and held tightly by his companion’s arm.
“I have had suspicions flashing about in a vague way in my brain, sir, but I could not arrange them. Now they begin to assume shape.”
“Great heavens!”