Isaac waved him away.
"Be off," he said, tersely. "I have queer humors sometimes lying here waiting for the end. Don't let it be your fate to excite one of them. You have had your escape."
"What do you mean?" Arnold demanded.
Isaac laughed hoarsely.
"How many nights ago was it," he asked, "that you threw up a window in the man Weatherley's house—the night Morris and I were there, seeking for Rosario?"
"I never saw you!" Arnold exclaimed.
"No, but you saw Morris," Isaac continued. "What is more, you saw him again on the stairs with me that night, and it very nearly cost you your life. Lucky for you, young man, that you were not at Hampstead the night when Morris went there to seek for you!"
Arnold was speechless.
"You mean that he was there that night looking for me?" he cried.
"He hated you all," Isaac muttered, "you and the woman and Sabatini, and he was a little mad—just a little mad. If he had found you all there—"