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Page 97
_Dying Confession of Margaret Langmore._
"A fine forgery, if I do say so myself," he mused. "Mat, you always
were a plum with the pen. I'll add a line telling where she can be
found and then send it to the coroner. That will be better than
leaving it around here. She might find it before she drank that dose."
He paused again. "Perhaps she won't drink it after all. I'll give her
some of it now, and make sure."
He raised up the almost lifeless girl, and forced open her lips. Then
he took the glass, and poured half the contents down her throat. She
spluttered, but swallowed, and he let her form drop back on the bed.
He was in a cold perspiration now, and in sudden fear, he fairly rushed
out of the cottage and down the hillside in the direction of his home.
CHAPTER XXX
RAISING THE CURTAIN
As soon as his interview with Tom Ostrello was at an end, Adam Adams
asked the young man to leave him.
"I am going to follow up this clew," he said. "And the quicker the
better."
He looked over a valise he carried and selected a number of things he
wanted. Midnight found him at the depot, boarding a train for
Fairfield. At the latter place he changed and took another train for
Bryport. Arriving at that city, he located at a hotel, and went to bed.
He was up at sunrise and procured an early breakfast. Then he returned
to his room and spent a full hour in donning another outfit and in
powdering his face, and adjusting a wig and a reddish moustache.
The same car that had taken him to the vicinity of John Watkins'
residence before, took him there again. As he approached the house he
saw the secret service man coming forth.
"Excuse me, Mr. Watkins, but I must see you," said he, in a low and
suggestive tone.
"To see me?" questioned the man. "What about?"
"Well, I must see you alone. _The sky may be rather red_, you know."
At the last words the secret service man started slightly. "That's
true, and _I don't like a red sky_," he answered. "Come into the
house. You just caught me in time."
He led the way inside and up to his den, closing and locking the door
after him.
"Now, then, what do you want to see me about?" he demanded sharply.
"Don't you recognize me?"
"I must say I do not, although your face seems familiar."
"I am Number Four."
There was a pause, and Adam Adams studied the face before him closely.
"Well?" came from the secret service man coldly.
"There has been trouble, Mr. Watkins. Matlock Styles sent me to you."
"The dickens you say. What right has he--"
"He had to do it. Things are getting warm."
"He should have come himself."
"He couldn't do it. The detectives are shadowing every movement he
makes. He didn't even dare to drop you a letter."
"What's the cause of the trouble?"
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