“I shall watch,” I replied determinedly.
“In any case it is a most interesting circumstance,” he declared. “But it’s a good job your Italian doctor was able to save you. Evidently you had a very narrow shave.”
“Very,” I said. “I shall never forget the agonies I suffered. But,” I added, “I mean at all hazards to decipher all that the book contains. That something very extraordinary is written there I’m absolutely convinced.”
“Well, it would really seem so,” he agreed. “Only, don’t run any risks and touch the thing with your bare hands again.”
“Not likely,” I laughed. And then I fell to wondering what had become of that dark-eyed, beautiful woman who had been the actual thief.
Why was the treasure wrapped and sealed so carefully? Could it be that those who had so cleverly conspired to obtain it from me were aware of the venom with which certain parts of it were contaminated? It really seemed as though they were.
We passed and repassed the short-statured old lady, talking together and appearing to take no notice of her. Evidently she was not aware of my identity; therefore I stood much greater chance in my efforts to watch her.
The examination of her bag that Hammond had made had not disturbed her in the least; but presently he returned to her, and, feigning to have forgotten to affix the necessary customs stamp, did so.
At last we slowed up beside the Admiralty Pier at Dover, and next instant all was bustle. Passengers hitherto prostrated by the voyage sprang up and pressed towards the gangway, each eager to get ashore and secure a place in the draughty and out-of-date compartments of the Joint-Railways.
With an old woman’s dislike of crowds, the person we were watching slowly gathered together her belongings, folded her shabby old travelling-rug neatly, pulled her veil beneath her chin, shook out her skirts, and then, carrying her precious bag, made her way to the gangway after the first rush had passed.