“You’ll soon have the chance; I’ve sent for the police.” Tommy changed his tone.
“Please, Clare, let me go,” he whined.
“I will not. I did what I could for you before, and I’ll do what I can for you now. You must go with the police.”
Tommy began to blubber, or pretend—Clare could not tell which.
“This beastly string’s a cuttin’ into me!” he sobbed.
Clare examined it, and found it easy enough.
“I won’t undo one knot,” he answered, “until there’s a policeman in the room. If you make a noise, I will stuff your mouth.”
His dread was that his mistress might hear, and spoil all. “It’s her house,” he said to himself, “but they’re my captives!”
Tommy lay still, and the police came.
When they untied and drew out the cork of the scullery window, Clare thought he had seen him before, but could not remember where. One of the policemen, however, the moment his eyes fell on his face, cried out joyfully,