“You’ve inquired about that girl, I suppose?”
“Yes. She’s in a drapery shop—at Cunnington’s, in Oxford Street, and, funnily enough, is sister of old Sam’s secretary.”
“His sister! By Jove! we ought to know her—one of us. She might be able to find out something.”
“No: we must keep away from her at present,” Adams urged. Then, in a curious voice, he added: “We may find it necessary to become her enemy, you know. And if so, she ought not to be personally acquainted with either of us. Do you follow me?”
“You mean that we may find it necessary to secure Max Barclay’s aid at sacrifice of the girl—eh?”
His companion smiled meaningly.
“We must be careful how we use Barclay,” Lyle said. “The young man has his eyes open.”
“I know. I’m well aware of that,” Adams said, quickly. “He will be of the greatest assistance to us.”
“If he has no suspicions.”
“What suspicion can he have?” laughed the other. “All that we’ve told him he believes to be gospel truth. Only the night before last we dined together at Romano’s, and after an hour at the Empire he took me to his club to chat and smoke.”