“You might be watched, and if you visited us, you might be followed. Tramu is, as you know, one of the most famous detectives in Europe.”
“And he has, in your father, one who is a past-master in the art of evasion. But,” I added, “tell me frankly, Miss Seymour, do you anticipate that he is anxious to possess himself of the bronze cylinder?” She hesitated again.
“Well—yes. As you ask me for a plain reply, I tell you that I believe his intention is to gain possession of it.”
“Why?”
“Because of the great secret therein contained.”
“And of what nature is this remarkable secret?” I demanded eagerly, much puzzled by her response.
“Ah! how can we tell? It is a secret from all, save to the person who shall dare break it open and examine it.”
“And dare you break it open, Miss Seymour?” I asked.
“No—a thousand times no!” she cried, alarmed at the very suggestion. “I would rather see it taken up and cast deep into the sea. Why don’t you do that, Mr Kemball? Take it out in a boat and sink it deep in the waters, where no man—not even divers—could ever recover it. Sink it deeply,” she urged, “so that all fears may be dispelled, and peace and love may reign.”
But I shook my head, expressing regret at my utter inability to accede to her desire.