At this crisis the sound of a low whistle fell upon the ears of Bandy-legged Bill, who judged rightly enough that danger was at hand. He went at once to the door of the apartment, closed and locked it, then he bethought him of what to do.
“Oh merciful heaven, save and succour me,” ejaculated Mrs. Bourne, wringing her hands. “What have you done?” She glanced at the prostrate form of her husband. “Perhaps murder.”
The noise of ascending footsteps on the stairs was now heard, and another whistle was given by somebody outside the house.
“This is indeed terrible. You will be captured; ruin and disgrace will fall upon me. Oh, unhappy and fatal was the hour you set foot in this house.”
“I’ll leave it for good and for all,” returned Bill, “and never of my own free will enter it again.”
“Leave—but how?” inquired Mrs. Bourne. “Hark, they are knocking at the door and endeavouring to break it open.”
Bill Rawton felt that not a moment was to be lost; he flew to the back window of the apartment and threw it open.
Then he thrust his head forth and took a rapid survey of the surrounding yards. Abutting out from the window was the roof of a washhouse. To drop on this was no very difficult task, but even when this had been done, the gipsy did not see any way of getting clear of the yards in the rear, and the sides of the doctor’s residence were surrounded by walls and houses, and he did not see any place for concealment. Nevertheless, he felt that to remain where he was would most assuredly end in his capture. There were one or two little matters against him which rendered an interview with police officers in no way desirable. Rawton had risked much for the sake of Mrs. Bourne. He had acted towards her with a spirit of magnanimity, which was the one bright spot in his shadowy character, and it is but fair that he should have full credit for the better impulse of his nature, which prompted him to save the woman whom he had once loved.
The officers were beating violently against the door of the apartment, and demanding immediate admittance.
“Fly!” cried Mrs. Bourne. “Get clear off while there is yet time.”