"She is a treasure, Aunty Jane White," explained Nestor, as the boys
watched the cold March dawn creep up the sky. "She really is my
aunt, you know, mother's sister. She knows all about my love for
secret service work, and lets me bring my friends here when they want
to keep out of sight."
"You said something about leaving me here to-day," Fremont observed.
"Why are you thinking of doing that? Why not keep together, and both
get out of the city?"
"I can't tell you now," Nestor replied, a serious look on his face.
"I've got something to do to-day that is so important, so vital, that
I dare not mention it even to you. It does not concern your case,
except that it, too, points to Mexico, but is an outgrowth from it."
"Strange you can't confide in me," said Fremont, almost petulantly.
Nestor noted the impatience in his friend's tone, but made no reply
to it. He had taken a packet of letters from his pocket, and was
running them thoughtfully through his hands, stopping now and then
to read the postmark on an envelope.
"Do you remember," he asked, in a moment, "of seeing a tall shadow
in front of the door to the Cameron suite just before we left there?"
"I did not see any shadow there," was the astonished reply. "How
could a shadow come on the glass door?"
"Because some tall man, with one shoulder a trifle lower than the
other, stood between the light in the corridor and the glass panel,"
was the reply," and his shadow was plainly to be seen.
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