"That would scarcely be possible in this instance." There was an implacable note in the old Doctor's measured tones. "His is not a corporation, you know; he has one silent partner who without doubt will carry out the contract entered into by my friend when he learns of it. Unfortunately, it will be necessary to locate this partner first and I have not the address."
"That can be arranged." Mrs. Atterbury rose. "Jack, come and play the new concerto for Doctor Bayard."
Betty had been granted permission to go out for an hour but her heart was heavy as she dressed. The discovery of the previous day that the supposed museum director was shadowing her had come with a shock which had benumbed her brain, but the reaction aroused all her faculties to the alert against this new threatened danger. Through the long hours of the night she lay in silent combat between the dictates of common sense and a strange, incomprehensible influence which sought to undermine her surer judgment and defy the evidence of her reason.
Herbert Ross a spy! It was unthinkable! His merry, candid eyes, his grave sympathetic manner, the latent boyishness and straightforward simplicity—all belied the possibility of such a role, and yet her coolly analytical mind forced her to the contemplation of hitherto unconsidered trifles which, viewed in the light of her discovery, assumed new and alarming proportions.
His confessed ignorance of Egyptiana in contradistinction to his avowed position of museum official; the readiness with which he had assigned the work of translation to her with no assurance of her qualifications, seeking only to learn her address; the personal questions he had later plied her with and his discovery that she no longer resided at the boarding house she had claimed as her home, all puzzled her and seemed to point at some ulterior motive in his conduct.
Could the advertisement itself have been a bait to draw her into his net? If so, from whom could he have learned of her penchant for Egyptology?
The grim, old woman whose unexpected presence in the neighborhood had so disconcerted her flashed across Betty's thoughts. Was Ross in her employ or was he in turn making a tool of the woman, using her knowledge to aid in snaring his prey for other and more desperate opponents?
Reason won in the unequal contest with the emotion which she could not name, and instinct warned her that no alternative remained but to sever all relations with the young man who had occupied her thoughts more than she realized until the decisive moment came.
With the completed translation secreted in her muff, she let herself out of the side door and proceeded to the gates from whence she chose a widely deviating course to the museum. In the maze of suspicion and distrust through which she walked she must guard herself on all sides and the knowledge that she might be trailed from the house at Wolvert's instigation or perhaps by the man on his own initiative led her to exercise all precaution.
Mr. Ross was absent when she reached the museum and to her inward dismay she was ushered into the study of Professor Carmody. The shrivelled little man greeted her with flattering warmth and reviewed the inscription from the Stele of Abu in glowing terms, but she felt his nearsighted eyes upon her in recurring perplexity and doubt and she longed to bring the interview to an end.