“I do not know a very great deal more,” answered the surgeon.
“These men are not yet able to be seen, I suppose—that is, the remaining two?”
“No; and will not be for some days to come.”
“That is too bad. I should have liked to ask them a few questions.” Kenyon arose and said: “Is it permissible for you to tell me the name of the person who summoned them to New York?”
“It is not. That is a point upon which the police left special instructions.”
“Ah, pardon me! And thank you for what you have already told us. Good-night.”
Once again they were upon the street, walking along in silence, hands stuffed into overcoat pockets and heads bent in deep thought. After a space Kenyon said:
“Well, Garry, my son, we don’t seem to have come at anything of value, as yet, eh?”
“Rather, we have gone deeper into the tangle,” answered Webster. Then he laughed in a sudden fit of boyish glee and continued: “But, I say, it’s more fun than going a-fishing, isn’t it? I’d like to work at a thing like this as a regular job. It’s got it all over hardware for real interest.”
“It seems to me that it’s going to be my occupation, for a time, at least,” said Kenyon, a certain grimness in his tone. “The matter concerns me, and if it’s possible to get to the bottom of it, I’m going to do it.”