Lord St. Austell sprang up from his seat, ran to the window, and strained his eyes to follow him. He had his hand on the sill to jump out after him, when he felt Deborah’s touch upon his sleeve.
“Lord St. Austell,” she whispered, “don’t on any account follow that man alone. He is dangerous.”
The earl turned impatiently. He was at all times physically fearless.
“My dear girl, don’t be alarmed, these men have nothing to fear and everything to hope from me. By this time they must have found it practically impossible to dispose of the stolen property, and must be in hourly dread of the police. Now, I can hush up the whole affair if they will restore the jewels.”
Deborah was still holding his sleeve with no uncertain grip, and she spoke in a low but very decided tone:
“It is not that, but Amos Goodhare has a grudge against you, I am sure of it.”
“No reasonable one, I assure you.”
By this time the girl was clinging to both his arms, almost struggling with him to prevent his carrying out his purpose.
“What does that matter,” she cried, vehemently. “Was a prejudice ever the weaker for being unreasonable? I tell you he saw you and pretended not to, in order to lure you to follow him. You don’t know where he’s gone, and what accomplices he may have waiting in that nest of dirty courts and passages out there. Get police assistance before you try to find him.”
“Confound the girl!” muttered Lord St. Austell savagely, as at last, not without the exercise of something like violence, he got partially free from her clinging hands. “You’ve made me miss him!”