Clement Seadon was glad of the hint. He would adopt a special alertness for the benefit of this unknown and unsqueamish Joe. But more than this, he was exceedingly grateful for the address they had given him—the gluemaker’s in the Sault Algonquin. He rather fancied he knew the street. It was one of those in the old town, in that network of dark and narrow alleys crowded between the water front and the rocky cliff on which Quebec was piled up. It was good to know the local headquarters of the gang. Also, Siwash Mike—whoever he was—was to report there. It would be interesting to hear that report. One might gather a great deal of useful and destructive information about Henry Gunning and the plans of the gang from it. The woman Méduse was saying, “Yes, something must be done about this Englishman. I assure you, Adolf, I do not feel secure with him about. It is not merely that apparently his easy-going appearance covers an unnatural cleverness—but—but—we must not mince matters, he has an effect on this girl Heloise.”
There was a pause. Clement felt that the big Mr. Neuburg was impressed by the significance of the companion Méduse’s words. He knew that he himself was certainly impressed by the significance of Méduse’s words. His heart had suddenly leaped. His brain was singing. He could scarcely restrain himself from calling out, “Say it. Say what you mean plainly.” And, as before, it was as though the intensity of his own feelings compelled those in the farther room to be explicit.
“Ah,” breathed the mountainous man. “You mean that she is, perhaps, in love with him?”
“I mean,” answered the woman, “that it would be very easy for her to be in love with him. I do not think she knows it yet. But he—he would quickly make her know the state of her heart.”
“Thank you,” Clement almost cried aloud.
“That is the devil,” said the big Mr. Neuburg, and his was the only expression that was vocal. “We must certainly deal with him....” And then came an unexpected happening, the woman hissed.
“Shiss, one moment.”
There was a sound of stealthy and swift movement in the room. A silence. Presently another movement of skirts, as though the woman was returning from a farther chamber. Then, “It is she. She has returned from the postoffice. I hear her moving in her room. I must go to her before she finds the bathroom door locked.” It was the companion Méduse, speaking softly.
Again movement. Again silence. A long silence. Clement heard the scratch of a match. Smelt cigar smoke. Heard a chair complain as a heavy body dropped into it. Then once more silence.