"There's only the one," the young man repeated. "You should know, because Mr. Bryce left it to you."
If I had had any doubts before as to the genuine character of my visitor they all vanished at that last remark of his. It was one of those things that a man could not have guessed, however clever he might be. He must have had inside knowledge. Hitherto I had been indulging in that pleasant pastime that is known in boxing circles as "sparring for wind," but now I dropped the pose completely and answered him as straightforwardly as was consistent with reasonable caution.
"Yes, he did leave a cypher to me," I admitted. "But what do you know about it?"
"Only what Mr. Bryce wrote me. I'm sorry I can't show you the letter, but Mr. Bryce had an invariable rule that all correspondence from him must be burnt as soon as read."
"I guess I've got to accept you at your face value, Mr. Cumshaw," I said. "You'll pardon me for doubting you at first, but it pays to be cautious in a game like this. Now I'd like to know just how we are going to assist each other."
"That's more than I can say," the young man smiled. "If I tell you the story from start to finish, maybe you'll get a better idea of what we're after."
"Would it take long?" I said diffidently. "It's fairly late now."
"If Mr. Cumshaw would stop to tea," Moira suggested, and looked to me for approval of her proposition. Under the circumstances there was only one thing for me to do, so I did it.
"You'll greatly oblige us if you stop," I said. "That is if it won't be causing any inconvenience?" I added questioningly.
"None at all," he said cheerily. "Nothing of this sort ever inconveniences me"—this latter with a glance at Moira.