The marks had evidently some prearranged meaning—one which she understood. It was a secret message from her father, without a doubt!
At risk of detection by some agent of police, I made a further close examination of the wall, and came upon two other signs which had also been hurriedly obliterated—one of three double triangles, and another of two oblongs and a circle placed in conjunction. But there was no writing; nothing, indeed, to convey any meaning to the uninitiated.
The wall of that dark entry, however, was no doubt the means of an exchange of secret messages between certain unknown persons.
The house was a large one, and had been let out in flats, as were its neighbours; but for some unaccountable reason—perhaps owing to a law dispute—it now remained closed.
I was puzzled as to which of the three half-obliterated signs Sylvia had sought. But I took notice of each, and then walked back in the direction whence I had come.
I returned at once to the hotel, but my wife had not yet come back. This surprised me. And I was still further surprised when she did not arrive until nearly one o’clock in the morning. Yet she seemed very happy—unusually so.
Where had she been after receiving that secret message, I wondered? Yet I could not question her, lest I should betray my watchfulness.
“I’m so sorry to have left you alone all this long time, Owen,” she said, as she entered the room and came across to kiss me. “But it was quite unavoidable.”
“Is all well?” I inquired.