“Out of the lattice, and fifteen feet high!”
“Any sheets left hanging out of the lattice?”
“Sheets! No.”
“‘Then she did not go without help: somebody must have thrown up to her a rope-ladder; nothing so easy; done it myself scores of times for the descent of ‘maids who love the moon,’ Mr. Rugge. But at her age there is not a moon; at least there is not a man in the moon: one must dismiss, then, the idea of a rope-ladder,—too precocious. But are you quite sure she is gone? not hiding in some cupboard? Sacre! very odd. Have you seen Mrs. Crane about it?”
“Yes, just come from her; she thinks that villain Waife must have stolen her. But I want you, sir, to come with me to a magistrate.”
“Magistrate! I! why? nonsense; set the police to work.”
“Your deposition that she is your lawful child, lawfully made over to me, is necessary for the inquisition; I mean police.”
“Hang it, what a bother! I hate magistrates, and all belonging to them. Well, I must breakfast! I’ll see to it afterwards. Oblige me by not calling Mr. Waife a villain; good old fellow in his way.”
“Good! Powers above!”
“But if he took her off, how did he get at her? It must have been preconcerted.”