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her throat, then in place of speech she nodded her head. In a moment she
was alone, and mumbling to herself.
And now Richards and Cox were hurrying through the deserted streets, from
opposite directions. They met, panting, at the foot of the
printing-office stairs; by the night-light there they read each other's
face. Cox whispered:
"
Nobody knows about this but us?"
The whispered answer was:
"
Not a soul--on honour, not a soul!"
If it isn't too late to--"
"
The men were starting up-stairs; at this moment they were overtaken by a
boy, and Cox asked,
"
"
"
"
Is that you, Johnny?"
Yes, sir."
You needn't ship the early mail--nor any mail; wait till I tell you."
It's already gone, sir."
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