She read his meaning and a look of relief crossed her face. "Thank
you," she murmured simply, then dropping her eyes she added in a
lower tone which no one heard except Craig: "Mr. Kennedy, how can I
ever thank you? Another night, and it would have been too late to
save me from myself."
III
THE GERM OF DEATH
By this time I was becoming used to Kennedy's strange visitors and,
in fact, had begun to enjoy keenly the uncertainty of not knowing
just what to expect from them next. Still, I was hardly prepared
one evening to see a tall, nervous foreigner stalk noiselessly and
unannounced into our apartment and hand his card to Kennedy without
saying a word.
"Dr. Nicholas Kharkoff - hum - er, Jameson, you must have forgotten
to latch the door. Well, Dr. Kharkoff, what can I do for you? It
is evident something has upset you."
The tall Russian put his forefinger to his lips and, taking one of
our good chairs, placed it by the door. Then he stood on it and
peered cautiously through the transom into the hallway. "I think I
eluded him this time," he exclaimed, as he nervously took a seat.
"Professor Kennedy, I am being followed. Every step that I take
somebody shadows me, from the moment I leave my office until I
return.
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