"Hush!" she cried at last. "He will hear you."
"He!" exclaimed the martinet. "What do I care what he hears? Let him listen and take heed."
"But I care," insisted the lady in an imploring voice. "I take an interest in the poor fellow. I am sorry for him. He has been telling me all about his trouble."
"Trouble!" sneered the major. "That's what they all call it. What's his name?"
"Whybrow."
"Not Whybrow the forger?"
"Yes."
"Then all I can say, my dear lady," cried the major in his most pompous manner, "is that I sincerely hope you have brought no plate or valuables to this accursed country; if you have I beg of you to let me take them to my bank to-morrow. Whybrow might hesitate to cut your throat—I doubt if he has the pluck for one thing—but he'll rob you as sure as you stand there. I remember his case very well. A more accomplished villain has never been transported. He'd rob a church, so you may be quite sure he'll rob you; it's only a question of time and opportunity."
Mrs. Astley turned on her heel, took a few quick steps towards the house, turned again and rejoined her neighbour.