“I see!”
“Naturally, not a matter for publicity.”
“Very well,” Nikky assented. But in his mind was rising, dark suspicion. He had stumbled on something. He cursed his stupidity that it meant, so far, nothing more than a mystery to him. He did not pride himself on his intelligence.
“You were not alone, I think?”
Peter Niburg suddenly remembered Herman, and stopped.
“Your friend must have escaped.”
“He would escape,” said Peter Niburg scornfully. “He is of the type that runs.”
He lapsed into sullen silence. Soon he paused before a quiet house, one of the many which housed in cavernous depths uncounted clerks and other small fry of the city. “Good-night to you,” said Peter Niburg. Then, rather tardily. “And my thanks. But for you I should now—” he shrugged his shoulders.
“Good-night, friend,” said Nikky. “And better keep your bed to-morrow.”
He had turned away, and Peter Niburg entered the house.