"
"A message for me! From whom?"
Wilson took me aside, and thrust an envelope into my hand.
"That come to your room--about nine o'clock, I reckon," he said.
"Leastways, that's the first we saw of it. An' Mother Borton was there,
an' she says she must see you to-night, sure. She wouldn't stay, but
says you was to come down there before you goes to bed, sure, if you
wants to keep out of trouble."
I looked at the envelope, and in the flickering light from the street-
lamp I could make out the address to Henry Wilton. By the handwriting
and by the indefinable scent that rose from the paper, I knew it for a
message from the Unknown who held for me the secrets of life and death.
CHAPTER XXI
AT THE BIDDING OF THE UNKNOWN
The windows of Borton's shone cheerfully, although it was past
midnight. At our cautious approach a signal was given, and with the
answering word a man appeared from the obscurity.
"All safe?" I inquired.
"It's all right," said Barkhouse. "There's a dozen men in the bar-room,
and I'm not sure there ain't some of the hounds amongst them. But
you're to go in the side door, and right up stairs."
"Two of you may keep at the foot of the stairs, just inside the door,"
I said. "You may stand watch outside, Barkhouse."
There was sound of rude song, and the clink of glass and bottle in the
bar and dining-room, as I passed through the side hall. But the door
was closed, and I saw nothing of the late revelers.
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