“No, I think not. I shall get back my letter of credit.”
Soon we heard footsteps outside.
“They are here. I almost regret this,” he said hurriedly.
“I think it splendid. Now for the play.” Then I raised my voice, and spoke excitedly. “The men took my letter of credit, and if you do not help me what am I to do? Some one shall pay for this.” I got up and held the door partly open. “If you can’t do it, you can’t of course; but I daren’t stay here.”
“You cannot go,” said the Father. “I have sent for the police.”
“Not go, I’ll see about that,” I cried angrily, and rushed out to be instantly seized by my friend of the Devil’s Staircase and a companion.
“No, no. We’ll see about your going,” sneered the fellow. “You’re right, Father Ambrose, this is the man we seek. Thank you for keeping him here and sending for us.”
“Ah, so it’s you again, eh?” I said.
“Yes; and you won’t get away this time.”
I turned on the priest viciously. “And this is your idea of Christianity, eh? To get me inside your house in order to betray me to the hounds. I wish you joy of your creed.”