“Oh, I need not trouble you to do that. I can go myself.”
“But it is a risk for you to go,” said Townsend. “If you have been watched or followed, you would never get to the hotel, while no one would suspect me of having the diamonds. Pass them over while no one is in the room with us.”
“Pshaw!” cried Maynard. “You are making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“I have heard it said,” continued Townsend, “that blood never washes off a diamond. The first night these gems were in America your uncle was murdered. A fine record those diamonds have! Come, let me be off with them—that is, if you can trust me with half a million.”
“If you think it is as serious as all that,” said Maynard, “I’ll let you have them, but it looks like we were getting frightened at nothing. To be sure, Anton and Bernice were sentenced to short terms on the recommendation of Nick Carter, and are now both out. I saw Anton yesterday, but he came to the home of his mother, and made all sorts of promises for the future.”
“And where is Bernice?”
“She did not return to Aunt Maynard. I think, however, that Anton knows where she is, and will assist her if he succeeds in getting money from his mother.”
“I don’t like the pair,” said Townsend, “any more than I like the circumstances of the night. You certainly must get rid of the diamonds.”
“I suppose so, but how? If we really are in danger, it is not safe for you to take them. Suppose we call a cab and both go to the Wisconsin? That’s rather a neat little hotel over on Broadway.”
“No, you remain here, and I’ll walk there. You must see the necessity of not seeming to be going away for a purpose.”