“I have seen your bogy,” said Clifford, “the man who torments you at night. He attacked me just before I came to the corner.”
“Ah!” cried Miss Bostal, with a shake of her head. “I have found out who he is now. He is the man who is at the bottom of all these robberies and of the murder of poor Jem.”
“Indeed!” said Clifford, politely, but without deep excitement.
For he rather looked down upon the little lady’s intelligence, which he thought was by no means so strong as her kindness of heart.
“Yes,” she said, “he is the man who got such a hold upon poor Nell that he got her to do whatever he pleased.”
The notion was so shocking that, improbable as it appeared, it made Clifford shudder.
“But why,” he asked, impulsively, “should Hemming let him come here and worry you?”
“Hemming!” echoed Miss Bostal.
Then she was silent. They remained in the little stone passage for a few seconds, unable to see each other’s face. Then she passed him, and running quickly to the dining-room door, threw it open and entered, beckoning to Clifford to follow.
“Papa,” said she, breathlessly, and in a little flutter of excitement, patting her little hands softly and rapidly the one against the other, “it is the detective Hemming who is sending this wretch to annoy us. Mr. King says so.”