“Silence!” again thundered the sage, “or by my Lord Zoroaster, I throw up the case.”
Adrian collapsed, and there was another pause.
“You believe,” he went on again, “that the said Foy and the said Dirk van Goorl, together with the said Martin, are making preparations to abduct that innocent and unhappy maid, the heiress, Elsa Brant, for evil purposes of their own?”
“I never told you so,” said Adrian, “but I think it is a fact; at least there is a lot of packing going on.”
“You never told me! Do you not understand that there is no need for you to tell me anything?”
“Then, in the name of your Lord Zoroaster, why do you ask?” exclaimed the exasperated Adrian.
“That you will know presently,” he answered musing.
Once more Adrian heard the strange squeaking as of young and hungry rats.
“I think that I will not take up your time any more,” he said, growing thoroughly alarmed, for really the proceedings were a little odd, and he rose to go.
The Master made no answer, only, which was curious conduct for a sage, he began to whistle a tune.