“You are the Whisperer.”
“I am.” The slim, gray-haired man before her smiled. “May I come in?”
She stepped aside. He entered and took a seat.
“It was generous of you to trust me,” he said. “You will not regret it.
“You see—” His eyes strayed about the place. “I fitted these rooms up for myself. Then, for reasons you shall know of later, I was obliged to leave them. When I learned of your presence here, I decided to trust you, and to use you. I— You have Nida’s story?”
Grace nodded.
“She is the daughter of a very old friend.” The little, gray-haired man leaned forward. “Will you tell me the story?”
Grace told the story as best she could.
“It is as I thought.” The Whisperer sprang to his feet. “That man, J. Templeton Semp, is a rascal. He tried to hide his evil deeds by persecuting others. I must go!” He seized his hat.
“But who—who are you?” Grace cried.