Sabina had, as Flossy expected, come with demands that would not perhaps have been easy to satisfy; but all her plans were swept away by the appearance of Westwood in the square. Sabina did not attempt to stand on ceremony.
"For goodness' sake, ma'am, don't go up-stairs nor let them go just yet!" she said hurriedly. "There's the man Westwood in the square—and his daughter's just gone up to Mr. Lepel. I know him by sight perfectly. If you want him to be arrested, ma'am, you could get it done now easily."
"What's that?" said old Miss Vane, stepping back with her hand to her ear. "Why are you looking so pale, Flossy? What's all this about?"
Flossy looked at her husband and then looked at Sabina. She would have given anything to stop Sabina's tongue. For the General had never yet been made aware of one half of her man[oe]uvres, and she did not think that he even knew that Westwood was alive. The whole thing would probably excite him terribly; and there was a certain unsigned document in the General's bureau at home about which Flossy was particularly anxious. She had not wanted him to hear too much about Westwood's fate.
But there was no help for it now. He came forward with his sister, wanting to know what all the disturbance was about, and questioning first one and then another in turn. Sabina was not voluble; but, acting on a hint from Mrs. Vane, she did not at once say how she came to recognise the man. The General flew into a rage, as Flossy had expected him to do, and wanted to go out and lay hands himself on his brother's murderer. With great difficulty his wife and sister persuaded him to listen to reason. The footman was despatched for the police, and Jenkins was deputed to accost the man and bring him to the house. In this last piece of business Flossy took the lead. She had a notion that Jenkins was in Cynthia's confidence, and would not do what was required of him if he knew its purpose; and for that reason she coolly gave him a message from Hubert and Cynthia. Neither the General nor Miss Vane heard it, or perhaps they would not have allowed it to be sent; but it certainly effected all that they desired. Quietly and unsuspiciously Westwood came stepping across the square in Jenkins' wake; and just as quietly was taken up the stairs and shown into a little sitting-room, where it had been decreed that he should be delayed until the police could arrive.
But Westwood was not altogether at his ease. He was surprised to find that neither Cynthia nor Lepel were there to meet him—surprised to find himself left alone in a bare little room for five or ten minutes at the very least. At last he tried the door. It was locked. And then the truth flashed across his mind—he had been recognised—he had been entrapped. Perhaps even Cynthia and Hubert Lepel were in the plot. They had perhaps meant him to be caught and sent back to Portland, to die like a wild beast in a cage.
"There'll be murder done first!" said Westwood, looking round him for a weapon. "Let's see which is the strongest—Hubert Lepel or me. And now for the door! The window is too high."
He had found a poker, and he dealt one crashing blow at the lock of the door. It was not strong, and it yielded almost immediately. There was a shriek from some one on the stairs—the rush of two men from the hall. The General and a servant were instantly upon him, and, what was worse, Cynthia's arms were around his neck, her hand upon his arm.
"Father, don't strike! You will kill somebody!" she cried.
"And what do I care? Is it you that have given me up? Do you want me to die like a rat in a hole?" the man cried, trying to shake her off.