“Mullet is also an outsider, is he not?” remarked the Professor with some suspicion.
“Of course, but of necessity. Though he may rob the rich, he prides himself on never having done a mean action to a poor person, or a woman.”
“Ah! Doctor,” laughed Griffin. “I see you believe in degrees of crime—eh?”
“In this case, yes. ‘Red Mullet’ has greatly assisted us. It was he who telegraphed to me from his retreat in Kent to watch the house in Berkeley Square. And now he has explained to me many points which were hitherto mysteries.”
“We need have no fear of our enemies now,” remarked the Professor, as at that moment Gwen, looking fresh in her white blouse and navy serge skirt, entered the room brightly and greeted the ugly little hunchback. “It only remains for us to call Farquhar into conference, and decide how we shall act. Somebody should proceed at once to Jerusalem, decide the exact spot, and purchase the land. We can have time for further operations when once the land on both sides of the hill is ours. Farquhar has promised that Sir George will find the necessary funds for that, if we so desire.”
Gwen, holding her breath, walked to the window and looked out upon the gloomy London street.
Her position was hideous. Her father believed that the great secret was his—and his alone. Frank would believe it—and by remaining silent she would be misleading her lover into a false sense of security.
She knew, alas! that their enemies would hesitate at nothing—that the Treasure of Israel was already lost to them—lost to the Jews for ever!
With her back turned to her father and his visitor she stood listening, her clenched hands trembling. What could she do? How could she act?
Suppose she told the truth, and bore the inevitable blow?