“I’m afraid it wasn’t,” Lena confessed with charming blushes. “But I didn’t think. I don’t know much about such things, you know.”
“Of course you don’t. No nice woman does,” said Mr. Early comfortingly. “And now let us forget it.”
“Here come the officers,” said Lena.
“It ain’t no use,” said the captain disgustedly. “He’s given us the slip, somehow. And we’d watched the house and made sure we’d nab him.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Mr. Early.
“Take his kit, and set guards and send telegraph descriptions of him in all directions. ’Taint likely he can get clean away. He’ll be a marked man wherever he goes.”
“If there is anything I can do to help you,” said Mr. Early grandiloquently, “you can command me, though you may imagine that it is very offensive to me to be mixed up in this kind of affair.”
“Well, rather,” said the officer dryly. Then, seeing the flush rising on Mr. Early’s face, he went on with the patronage of the majesty of the law: “You needn’t fear that you’ll suffer any personal inconvenience. We’ve had you under surveillance for a long time—ever since we began to suspect your nigger friend; and we know you are all right.” But the assurance seemed to add to Mr. Early’s discomfiture. “Looks as if it was going to blow up a storm. A dark night would be a good thing for him and a nuisance to us. But we’ll catch him sure.”
They were gone, and Lena lingered a moment, fastening her dearly-bought bauble around her neck and gathering her books, while a maid came scudding from the house to bundle rugs and cushions away in face of the thunder-heads looming in the southwest. A sudden sibilant sound brought Lena to attention.
“Mrs. Percival!” she heard. “Look up.”