The one going out was
a stranger to me and I hardly noticed him, but the one coming in
was Oliver Ostrander (or his photograph greatly belied him), and
in my joy at an encounter so greatly desired but so entirely
unhoped for, I was on the point of rising to intercept him, when
some instinct of precaution led me to glance about me first for
the individual who had shown such a persistent interest in me from
the moment of my arrival. There he sat, not a dozen chairs away,
ostensibly reading, but with a quick eye ready for me the instant
I gave him the slightest chance:--a detective, as certainly as I
was Black, the lawyer.
What was I to do? The boy was leaving town--was even then on his
way to the station as his whole appearance and such words as he
let fall amply denoted. If I let him go, would another such chance
of delivering his father's message be given me? Should I not lose
him altogether; while if I approached him or betrayed in any way
my interest in him, the detective would recognise his prey and, if
he did not arrest him on the spot, would never allow him to return
to Shelby unattended. This would be to defeat the object of my
journey, and recalling the judge's expression at parting, I dared
not hesitate. My eyes returned with seeming unconcern to the
letter I was holding and the detective's to his paper. When we
both looked up again the two young men had quit the building and
the business which had brought me to Washington was at an end.
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