What secret did she hold? What was the danger she
feared?
Mother Borton appeared to have some difficulty in arranging her words
to her liking. She seemed to be writing, but the pen did not flow
smoothly. At last she was done, and, sealing her work in an envelope,
she brought the flickering light once more to the table.
"Take that," she said, thrusting the envelope into my hand. "If you
find a one-eyed man when you git into trouble, give him that letter
I've writ ye, and it may do ye some good. It's the best I can do fer
ye. You'd better go now and git some sleep. You may need it."
I thanked Mother Borton and pressed her hand, and she held the candle
as I tiptoed down the stairs, joined my waiting guards, and went out
into the night.
The fresh, cool air of the early morning hours was grateful after the
close and tainted atmosphere of the den we had left, but I had other
things to think of than the pleasure of once more filling my lungs.
"Where are Barkhouse and Phillips?" I asked, as we turned our faces
toward the west.
Porter gave a low whistle, and, as this failed to bring an answer,
followed it with one louder and more prolonged. We listened, but no
response came.
"We'd better get out of here," said Wilson. "There's no telling what
may happen when they hear that whistle."
"Hist! What's that?" said Porter, drawing me back into a doorway.
There were running steps on the block above us, and I thought a shadow
darted from one side of the street to the other.
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