“No more, sir—and if I may be struck dead—”
“Keep all that sabbath talk for the chaplain,” commended T. X., and they took away Mr. Fisher, not an especially dissatisfied man.
That night T. X. interviewed his prisoner at Cannon Row police station and made a few more enquiries.
“There is one thing I would like to ask you,” said the girl when he met her next morning in Green Park.
“If you were going to ask whether I made enquiries as to where your habitation was,” he warned her, “I beg of you to refrain.”
She was looking very beautiful that morning, he thought. The keen air had brought a colour to her face and lent a spring to her gait, and, as she strode along by his side with the free and careless swing of youth, she was an epitome of the life which even now was budding on every tree in the park.
“Your father is back in town, by the way,” he said, “and he is most anxious to see you.”
She made a little grimace.
“I hope you haven't been round talking to father about me.”
“Of course I have,” he said helplessly; “I have also had all the reporters up from Fleet Street and given them a full description of your escapades.”