I told him,
instead, that this was the chance of his life; to fasten to Potts like
an enraged leech, and draw out every secret of his dark past. You can't
tell--Billy might find something to pry him into the next county with,
anyway."
"He certainly looked charged with information this afternoon. He was
fizzing like an impatient soda fountain. But why did he follow me?"
"Well, that might be Billy's roundabout way of getting to me. The other
time he shadowed Marvin Chislett to get a message to me. If you're a
detective, you can't do things the usual way, or all may be lost."
At that instant a low whistle sounded in our ears, a small missile was
thrown over the evergreen hedge, bounding almost to our feet, and a
slight but muscular figure was seen retreating swiftly into the dusk.
Solon sprang for the mysterious object. It was a stone, about which was
wrapped a sheet of paper. This he took off and smoothed out. By the
fading light we made out to read: "Meet me at graveyard steps at
midnight. You know who."
We looked at each other. "Why didn't he come in here?" I asked.
"That wouldn't have been detective-like."
"But the graveyard at midnight!"
"Well, perhaps he won't hold out for midnight--Billy is merely poetic at
times--and maybe if we hurry along, we can catch up with him and have it
out by the marble works there instead of going clear on to the cemetery.
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