"It does not do," he said. "But there will be time to consider that. The magistrates will be sure to commit you for trial. They must have evidence enough for that, or Mr. Malcolm would never have signed the warrant against anyone in your position."
"I am quite prepared for that," he answered. "Let us go."
They left the room at once. Helen had fainted in her chair. Sir Allan Beaumerville had apparently disappeared.
They stood on the doorstep for a moment while the carriage, which had been driven a little way down the avenue to quiet the mettlesome horses, returned, and Mr. Thurwell spoke a few more encouraging words.
"Jenkins has packed some things of mine, which may be useful to you, in a portmanteau," he said. "You will find it in the carriage, and also an ulster. Keep up your spirits, Maddison. All will be well."
"At any rate, I shall never forget your kindness," Bernard Maddison answered, grasping his hand. "Good-by, Mr. Thurwell!"
"Good night, Maddison, good night! I shall see you to-morrow."
The impatient horses leaped forward, and Mr. Thurwell turned back into the hall, and made his way back into the dining room. Helen had recovered sufficiently to be able to go to her room, he was told. Sir Allan was still sitting at the table, quietly sipping a cup of coffee. His legs were crossed, and he was smoking one of his favorite Egyptian cigarettes.
"Has he gone?" he said, looking round languidly.
Mr. Thurwell frowned. He was a man of somewhat imperturbable manners himself, but he was far from being unfeeling, and Sir Allan's silence and non-expression of any sympathy toward Bernard Maddison annoyed him not a little.