"Oh no, no," she said eagerly.
"Well, it is so early; and look how it is pouring cats and dogs! We had better give up such a wild-goose chase. I'll bring back the thing all right. Can't you trust me?"
"No; I can't, I can't," said Salome. "Besides, mother will begin to examine the Pryors and Stevens, and that will only make it worse for every one. Make haste, Raymond. I hear Stevens. Do come!"
In another moment they were out in the wild, stormy morning. Could it be the same world, Salome felt ready to ask herself—the smiling, sunny world of yesterday, when she had set out so happily to Edinburgh Crescent? Then her head ached dreadfully, and her back too, and her cheeks were hot. It was almost a relief to feel the cold drops of rain which came against them every time a great blast came and hurled her umbrella on one side.
"The trams will be running when we come back," Raymond said. "Had not you better go back, Sal? It is making such a fuss; and you will get cold."
Salome only said, "I must come with you," and struggled on.
It was past eight when they reached Mr. Moore's shop. The shutters were taken down, and the shop was being dusted and swept.
Mr. Moore was an old-fashioned tradesman, but of good repute; and though his shop was small, he dealt only in the very best jewellery and plate. A young man with light hair was behind the counter, and looked with surprise at these early customers as Raymond advanced to the counter, all dripping as he was, with the little shivering figure by his side.
"I left a case here yesterday. I want to take it away again. Where is Mr. Moore?"
"Mr. Moore is not come into town yet," said the young man. "He will not be here till ten o'clock."