Kennedy took a last look at the den, to make sure that nothing had been disturbed that would arouse suspicion.
"We may as well go," he remarked. "To-morrow, I want to be free to make the connection outside with that wire in the shaft."
Imagine our surprise, the next morning, when a tap at our door revealed Loraine Keith herself.
"Is this Professor Kennedy?" she asked, gazing at us with a half-wild expression which she was making a tremendous effort to control. "Because if it is, I have something to tell him that may interest Mr. Carton."
We looked at her curiously. Without her make-up she was pallid and yellow in spots, her hands trembling, cold, and sweaty, her eyes sunken and glistening, with pupils dilated, her breathing short and hurried, restless, irresolute, and careless of her personal appearance.
"Perhaps you wonder how I heard of you and why I have come to you," she went on. "It is because I have a confession to make. I saw Mr. Haddon just before he was—kidnapped."
She seemed to hesitate over the word.
"How did you know I was interested?" asked Kennedy keenly.
"I heard him mention your name with Mr. Carton's."
"Then he knew that I was more than a reporter for the Star," remarked Kennedy. "Kidnapped, you say? How?"
