“I am very sorry,” he said, “of course it's true. The police have been here.”
“The police!” Monty moaned.
Da Souza nodded. Benevolence was so rare a part for him to play, that he rather enjoyed it.
“Don't be scared,” he said. “Yes, your description is out, and you are wanted for stealing a few pounds from a man named Walsh. Never mind. I won't give you up. You shall lie snug here for a few days!”
Monty fell on his knees. “You won't let any one know that I am here!” he pleaded.
“Not I,” Da Souza answered fervently.
Monty rose to his feet, his face full of dumb misery.
“Now,” he muttered, “I shall never see her—never—never—never!”
There was a bottle half full of spirits upon the table and a tumbler as yet unused. A gleam flashed in his eyes. He filled the tumbler and raised it to his lips. Da Souza watched him curiously with the benevolent smile still upon his face.