The silence prolonged itself interminably. Wilsnach became restive, shifting his position and still waiting. But neither spoke.
Kestner sat back in his chair, with a sigh. Then consciousness of his immediate surroundings returned to him. He looked tired but contented.
"Maresi won't need to send that message for us," he said very quietly. "Lambert's on the Pannonia!"
Wilsnach stood staring down at him, slowly digesting this unlooked-for information.
"Lambert—on the Pannonia?" he intoned, with voluptuous delay in the delivery of each pregnant word.
"And his daughter is to join him there, as late as possible to-morrow night, before the boat sails."
"You're—you're sure of this?"
"Positive! And the gentleman known as Antonio Morello is to follow on a later steamer. He will go steerage. And like most immigrants, he will take his own bedding. But sewn up in his mattress he is to carry in seven of Maura Lambert's note plates."
Wilsnach sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. Then he sighed devoutly as he stared at the wire helmet.
"Thank the Lord, Kestner, that you ever learned the tricks of the wire-tapper! This cuts right into the core of things! This plays right into our hands! And this means I can be back in Paris by Friday!"
"But in the meantime," suggested Kestner, taking the helmet from his head, "I'd like you to relieve me here while I get six hours' sleep. If anything goes
