“But, Miss Claes—New York! What are we to do—no Harrow Street?”
“You will know what to do,” she said. “And about the things that were in your rooms. I had them carefully boxed and sent to your mother, who was well when I left. Also your aunt and sister.”
He took from his pocket the old dark key to the “parlor” door. She bent and touched it.
“Keep it, Richard,” she said, “until I send you another.”
“And Nagar——” he began at length.
“He is here.”
“And well? I could get so little word.”
“Nagar has been hurt, but is healing. Look——”
Dicky turned to find his friend standing behind them at the door. He had felt a presence there, but thought it was the native who had brought him. Nagar’s eyes looked very large in the wasted face.