I turned quickly. It was Mother Borton, leering at me with no apparent
interest but in her errand.

"What are you doing here?" asked the crone in a voice still lower.
"You're not the one they take you to be, but you're none the less in
danger. What are you doing with his looks, and in this place? Look out
for that man you're with, and the other. Yes, sir," her voice rose. "A
small bottle of the white; in a minute, sir."

I understood her as Dicky and the new-comer came to the table and took
seats opposite. I commanded my face to give no sign of suspicion, but
the warning put me on the alert. I had come on the supposition that I
was to meet the band to which Henry Wilton belonged. Instead of being
among friends, however, it seemed now that I was among enemies.

"It's all right," said Dicky carelessly. "He's been sent."

"That's lucky," said I with equal unconcern. "We may need an extra hand
before morning."

The new-comer could not repress a triumphant flash in the serpent eyes.

"I'm the one for your job," he said hoarsely, his face as impassive as
a stone wall.

"What do you know about the job?" I asked suspiciously.

"Only what I've been told," he answered.

"And that is--"