“What is that?” asked Bobby.
“If there is money. They believe my mother’s people might be rich, or something of the kind. Then they would make them pay to get hold of me. But suppose my mother’s people do not want me?” slowly added the fugitive, sadly.
“You are quite sure this is the idea the Vareys have?” asked Bobby.
“Oh, yes. I heard them talking. Then I saw a—a card with a name written on it. They said, when they were looking at the card, ‘She will know all about it. It is to her we must go.’ So I know it was a woman’s name.”
“But how did you know—or suspect—that the name was that of any teacher in our school?” demanded Bobby, much to Eve’s surprise.
“Ah! I learned much—here a word, there a word—by listening. I knew we were coming to Centerport for the purpose of getting speech with this woman whose name had been given them by the Hungarian people who brought me over here to America.”
“But mercy on us!” cried Eve, in vast amazement. “What name is it?”
“She can’t explain, for she cannot pronounce it,” said Bobby, instantly.
“Grace, or Jim Varey, never spoke the name aloud,” said Margit, shaking her head. “But I know there are eighteen letters in the name. I counted them.”
“And what teacher at Central High has eighteen letters in her name?” murmured Eve, staring at Bobby.