"At once," said Mrs. Knapp, in her tone of decision.
"It will take ten minutes to get ready," said the man. "Come this way."
I was left standing alone by the door in the darkness, with a burden
lifted from my mind. We had come in time. The single slip of paper left
by Henry Wilton had been the means, through a strange combination of
events, to point the way to the unknown hiding-place of the boy. He was
still safe, and the enemy were on a false trail. I should not have to
reproach myself with the sacrifice of the child.
Yet my mind was far from easy. The enemy might have been misled, but if
they had followed the road marked out in the diagram I had brought from
their den, they were too close for comfort. I listened for any sound
from the outside. The dogs had quieted down. Twice I thought I heard
hoof-beats, and there was a chorus of barks from the rear of the house.
But it was only the horses that had brought us hither, stamping
impatiently as they waited.
In a few minutes the wavering light of the candle reappeared. Mrs.
Knapp was carrying a bundle that I took to be the boy, and the man
brought a valise and a blanket.
"It's all right," said Mrs. Knapp. "No--I can carry him--I want to
carry him."
The man opened the door, then closed and locked it as I helped Mrs.
Knapp into the carriage.
"Have you got him safe?" asked Dicky incredulously. "Well, I'll have to
say that you know more than I thought you did." And the relief and
satisfaction in his tone were so evident that I gladly repented of my
suspicions of the light-hearted Dicky.
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