The easy, flippant manner was gone, and Connor, looking up, caught the steady stare of two cold blue eyes, and shivered.
“Why,” Angel went on slowly, “it was a message from Inspector Angel—which is a damned piece of impudence, Connor, for I’m not an inspector—and the young lady drove away to Scotland Yard. And now, Connor, I want to ask you, What have you done with old Reale’s heiress?”
Connor licked his lips and said nothing.
Angel beckoned to a waiter and paid his score, then rose to go.
“You will go at once and drive Miss Kathleen Kent back to the place you took her from. I shall call to-morrow and see her, and if one hair of her head is harmed, Connor——”
“Well?” said Connor defiantly.
“I’ll chance your alibis, and take you for the Lagos business,” and with a curt nod to Jimmy, he left the saloon.
Connor turned in a fret of fury to the man at his side.
“D’ye hear him, Jimmy? D’ye hear the dog——”
“My advice to you,” interrupted the other, “is—do as Angel tells you.”