“Which corroborates my theory,” he said, softly; “for I had seen it elsewhere.”
“Where do you mean, Harley?”
“In the face of Madame de Stämer.”
“What?”
“Knox”—Harley rested his hand upon my arm and looked about him cautiously—“she knows.”
“But knows what?”
“That is the question which we are here to answer, but I am as sure as it is humanly possible to be sure of anything that whatever Colonel Menendez may tell us to-night, one point at least he will withhold.”
“What do you expect him to withhold?”
“The meaning of the sign of the Bat Wing.”
“Then you think he knows its meaning?”