“Keep all these theories in the back of your head. Use your own judgment; but I would suggest that your theme be the subject of Chatham’s mental condition at the time he called on the eminent psychoanalyst.
“If all is progressing nicely, you may bring up the question of”— the voice almost whispered its final words—”the purple sapphire.”
Clyde Burke was tense for a moment. Then he grinned. It was the greatest assignment he had ever had.
It was like a part in a play— only this was a real drama, with a hidden purpose.
“You can say that you are connected with the Daily Sphere,” came Clarendon’s suggestion. “Many of your friends are there — from the old Clarion staff.”
THE two men descended to the street. As they walked toward Broadway, Clarendon spoke steadily to his companion, in a low, whispered voice that echoed strangely in Burke’s ear.
“Tonight is important,” were the words. “Remember that, Burke! If you uncover important facts, it will be the beginning of a desperate struggle.
“There will be danger — but you are not the man to fear it. Yet danger requires caution.
“Should any strange events develop, you will not see me again— that is, not as George Clarendon.
Instead, you will receive messages— usually written messages.