"I want to ask that old man who he is," she cried. But Wilfred held her back in spite of her efforts to follow the Dutchman.
"Brenda! don't be foolish. It's dangerous. The people are getting their blood up."
"But that old man killed Mr. Malet. I will know who he is."
"Van Zwieten will find out."
"I dare say," said Brenda, tartly. "But he won't tell you or me."
"It's too late now to think of that. Come up here, and let us get a hansom. If you got into trouble, Brenda, Harold would never forgive me!"
And Brenda knew that this was so, and she guessed too that Wilfred was chafing under his responsibility for her safety. She therefore stepped into a hansom with him. When they were rattling along Piccadilly she asked him if it was he who had called out that Van Zwieten was a spy.
"Yes, it was I," admitted Wilfred, in a fiery tone. "And I should have liked to see the crowd go for the big brute."
"I don't like Van Zwieten myself, as you know," Brenda said; "all the same, Wilfred, it is only fair to say he behaved very well over that old man."
"He knew there was no danger, that the police were about. He wanted to show up as a hero in your eyes, Brenda. For my part, I wish he had been lynched for a spy. I hate the man."