tery, and she was, I knew, seeking to penetrate it and learn the truth.
I had already satisfied myself that the gang was a most dangerous and unscrupulous one, and that Rayne and his friends would hesitate at nothing so long as they carried out the plans which they laid with such innate cunning in order to effect great and astounding coups—the clever thefts and swindles that from time to time had held the world aghast.
I suppose I must have waited nearly half an hour when suddenly there fell upon my ear uneven footsteps hurrying along towards the car, and in the light of the street lamp I distinguished, hurrying towards me, a short, elderly man, somewhat deformed, with a distinct hump on his back.
"You're Mr. Hargreave, aren't you?" he inquired breathlessly, with a distinct Scottish accent. "I'm Tarrant! I'm so sorry I'm late, but Rudolph will understand. I'll explain it to him."
And he was about to mount into the seat beside me.
I put out my arm, and peering into the man's face, asked:
"Is there nothing else, eh?"
"Nothing," he replied. "Why? You are here to meet me. Rudolph sent you down from London."
I was awaiting the prearranged word that would show the hunchback's bonâ fides.
I gave him another opportunity of giving the password, but he seemed ignorant of it.
