“It certainly looks like queer street, anyway,” remarked Tom reflectively. “It may be the man, or it may be some bunch of counterfeiters or other criminals. I’m not going to back down for a minute, but I think one of us had better hunt up Dorothy, tell her where we are, and have her put the police on the trail, if we shouldn’t happen to turn up to-night. Strikes me that that would be only an elementary precaution.”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “You watch here.”
Before Tom could object, I was half way down the stairs and out on the street. On Tottenham Court Road, I found Dorothy driving up and down. She leaned forward questioningly as I jumped in. I nodded in answer, “Yes. We’ve got the place, but we need your help now.” Warned by experience as to its necessity, I had mapped out my line of argument carefully, as I hurried along. “We have the very place, but we want you to stay outside and send us help, if we should get into trouble.”
Dorothy’s face fell. “I want to go with you the worst way,” she said. “Yet I don’t like the idea of you two going into danger without any outside assistance. What have you found out?”
It was no easy matter to convince her, yet when Dorothy saw the condition of affairs, there was really nothing she could do but give in. For us to explore that unknown territory, without some line on the outside to protect us in case of peril, was manifestly unwise. Certainly it was not possible for us to let so plain a clue go by.
At my command, the cabman drove past the old book store, up the street, and round the square. Back on the main thoroughfare again, I made ready to return and join Tom.
“You’ve got the place fixed clearly in mind?” I asked, looking up at her from the sidewalk.
To my surprise, Dorothy’s eyes were filled with tears, and her voice came pleadingly. “I wish you did not feel you had to go. I don’t know why I feel so strangely about your going, but I do. Isn’t there some other way out?”