While the colonel was rolling Birdsall’s information around in his mind, he heard the echo of steps on the flagging which preceded Mercer and the other man.
There was that in the bearing and the look of them that made the watcher, used to the signs of decision on men’s faces, instantly sure that their whole course of plans and action was changed.
Mercer spoke first and in a low tone to the colonel.
“I have no right,” said he, “to ask so much trust from you, but will you trust me enough to step aside with this young man and me for a moment only—out of ear-shot? I give you my word of honor I mean no slightest harm to you. I want to be frank. I will go alone if you desire.”
The colonel eyed him intently for the briefest space. “I’ll trust you,” said he. Then: “I think you have the key to this queer mix-up. At your service. And let your friend come, too. He is an ingenuous sort, and he amuses me.”
Birdsall looked distinctly sullen over the request to wait, intimating quite frankly that his employer was walking into a trap. “I won’t stand here more than fifteen minutes,” he grumbled. “I’ve given those fellows poco tiente long enough.” But the colonel insisted on twenty minutes, and reluctantly Birdsall acquiesced.
Mercer conducted the others to the library. When they were seated he began in his composed, melancholy fashion:
“I earnestly beg of you to listen to me, and to believe me, for your nephew’s sake. I am going to tell you the absolute truth. It is the only way now. When you came, we handed him over to this gentleman, exactly as we have said. I do not know why he should have been stopped. I do not know why he left the machine—”
“Might he not have been carried away?” said Winter.
“He might; but I don’t know what motive—”