“And I yours,” said Nikky.
The chauffeur took a final glance around; as far as he could see, and a final shuddering look at the valley of the Ar, far below. “I will tell you,” he said sullenly.
CHAPTER XII. TWO PRISONERS
Herman Spier had made his escape with the letter. He ran through tortuous byways of the old city, under arches into courtyards, out again by doorway set in walls, twisted, doubled like a rabbit. And all this with no pursuit, save the pricking one of terror.
But at last he halted, looked about, perceived that only his own guilty conscience accused him, and took breath. He made his way to the house in the Road of the Good Children, the letter now buttoned inside his coat, and, finding the doors closed, lurked in the shadow of the park until, an hour later, Black Humbert himself appeared.
He eyed his creature with cold anger. “It is a marvel,” he sneered, “that such flight as yours has not brought the police in a pack at your heels.”
“I had the letter,” Herman replied sulkily. “It was necessary to save it.”
“You were to see where Niburg took the substitute.”
But here Herman was the one to sneer. “Niburg!” he said. “You know well enough that he will take no substitute to-night, or any night, You strike hard, my friend.”