“Him? Who?”
“The man who took me away from Lady and Ducky Darling.”
“Who was that man, my dear?”
“Oh, I don’t know; but Lady wouldn’t let him come in, and he wouldn’t go away, and Pompous Pirate set the dog on him—Tiger, you know.”
Harcourt knew perfectly well; and if he ever had had a doubt as to the identity of the child’s abductor that doubt was set at rest now. He also understood what Owlet meant by going dead, and by what means the child stealer had managed to quiet her at intervals during their journey.
When the boat reached Jersey City, Harcourt, leading the child with one hand and his valise in the other, hurried on with the throng to the depot. When he reached the ticket office and took out and opened Adler’s sealed envelope, he found, not the sixteen dollars and fifty cents he had asked for, but thirty dollars, in three notes of ten each.
“More than half of his six months’ savings,” he said to himself. “Ah, me! the more I see of Adler the worse I think of myself. But his money must not be used—no, indeed, it must not. I must return it as soon as I get to Washington, and trust to Providence for future supplies.”
He took tickets for himself and the child and hurried to the train. In two more minutes they were seated side by side in the common car, Harcourt next the window, lest Owlet should endanger her safety by putting her head out of it.
CHAPTER XXV
CHARLES CUTTS AGAIN
The car was not more than half full, but just as it started Harcourt heard a man come into the seat behind them, drop down in his place, and deposit a heavy bag beside him; and next he felt a hand laid familiarly on his shoulder.