“So I think,” Nick agreed. “That’s why I have undertaken to trace her.”
They had come within view of Busby’s upper windows while they were talking.
Margate gazed sharply ahead, then glanced back over his shoulder.
The narrow street was deserted in both directions. As well as one could have told, no mortal eye was observing the two hurrying men.
Margate drew out a white handkerchief, holding it conspicuously in his hand for a moment and then wiping his face with it.
Nick Carter did not appear to observe him. He had known from the first, nevertheless, that the rascal was trying to lure him to some place where, no doubt, Patsy Garvan had been cornered the previous night, he having failed to report the result of this espionage.
Nick now was convinced, too, that his companion had signaled to some one in the grim stone house which they were rapidly approaching.
This was confirmed a moment later, for Busby himself suddenly appeared at the grille gate, when the two men were scarce ten feet from it.
“We might inquire of this fellow,” Margate suggested quietly.
“We will, Garside,” Nick muttered.