"Mrs. Redmain," he went on, "would have me hand you over to the police; but I won't. You may go home when you please, and you need fear nothing."
He had the house where the Helmers lodged already watched, and knew this much, that some one was ill there, and that the doctor came almost every day.
"I certainly shall fear nothing," said Mary, not quite trusting him; "my fate is in God's hands."
"We know all about that," said Mr. Redmain; "I'm up to most dodges. But look here, my girl: it wouldn't be prudent in me, lest there should be such a personage as you have just mentioned, to be hard upon any of my fellow-creatures: I am one day pretty sure to be in misfortune myself. You mightn't think it of me, but I am not quite a heathen, and do reflect a little at times. You may be as wicked as myself, or as good as Joseph, for anything I know or care, for, as I say, it ain't my business to judge you. Tell me now what you are up to, and I will make it the better for you."
Mary had been trying hard to get at what he was "up to," but found herself quite bewildered.
"I am sorry, sir," she faltered, "but I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."
"Then you go home," he said. "I will send for you when I want you."
The moment she was out of the room, he rang his bell violently. Mewks appeared.
"Go after that young woman—do you hear? You know her—Miss—damn it, what's her name?—Harland or Cranston, or—oh, hang it! you know well enough, you rascal!"
"Do you mean Miss Marston, sir?"