THERE WAS a silence of a minute. d**k looked at the man, hardly believing his ears.
“Trying to open a dead man’s tomb?” he repeated. “Now sit down and tell me all about it, Lew.”
“I can’t—yet. I’m scared,” said the other doggedly. “This man is hell, and I’d as soon face the devil as go through another night like I had on Tuesday.”
“Who is the man?”
“I won’t tell you that,” said the other sullenly. “I might at the end, but I won’t tell you now. If I can find a quiet place I’m going to write it all out, and have it on paper in case—anything happens to me.”
He was obviously labouring under a sense of unusual excitement, and d**k, who had known him for many years, both in England and in Canada, was amazed to see this usually phlegmatic man in such a condition of nerves.
He refused to tak
