“I say; this is an infernally awkward business. I'm very sorry about it.”
Arthur looked up with a face as serene as a summer morning. “You have always been good to me,” he said. “There's nothing to be sorry about. I shall be safe enough.”
“Look here, Arthur!” Thomas gave his moustache a hard pull and plunged head first into the awkward question. “Is—all this anything to do with—money? Because, if it is, I——”
“With money! Why, no! What could it have to do——”
“Then it's some political tomfoolery? I thought so. Well, don't you get down in the mouth—and never mind all the stuff Julia talks. It's only her spiteful tongue; and if you want help,—cash, or anything,—let me know, will you?”
Arthur held out his hand in silence, and Thomas left the room with a carefully made-up expression of unconcern that rendered his face more stolid than ever.
The gendarmes, meanwhile, had finished their search, and the officer in charge requested Arthur to put on his outdoor clothes. He obeyed at once and turned to leave the room; then stopped with sudden hesitation. It seemed hard to take leave of his mother's oratory in the presence of these officials.
“Have you any objection to leaving the room for a moment?” he asked. “You see that I cannot escape and that there is nothing to conceal.”
“I am sorry, but it is forbidden to leave a prisoner alone.”
“Very well, it doesn't matter.”