He said this with his arms round Andrew's, who had ceased to cry out when he saw the police.
'Do you want to give this gentleman in charge, sir?'
'No. It is a little private affair of my own, this.'
'Hadn't you better let him go, sir, and we'll find him for you when you want him?'
'No. He may give me in charge if he likes. Or if you should want him, you will find him at my house.'
Then pinioning his prisoner still more tightly in his arms, he leaned forward, and whispered in his ear,
'Will you go home quietly, or give me in charge? There is no other way, Andrew Falconer.'
He ceased struggling. Through all the flush of the contest his face grew pale. His arms dropped by his side. Robert let him go, and he stood there without offering to move. The cab came up; the policeman got out; Andrew stepped in of his own accord, and Robert followed.
'You see it's all right,' he said. 'Here, give the barman a sovereign. If he wants more, let me know. He deserved all he got, but I was wrong. John Street.'
His father did not speak a word, or ask a question all the way home. Evidently he thought it safer to be silent. But the drink he had taken, though not enough to intoxicate him, was more than enough to bring back the old longing with redoubled force. He paced about the room the rest of the day like a wild beast in a cage, and in the middle of the night, got up and dressed, and would have crept through the room in which Robert lay, in the hope of getting out. But Robert slept too anxiously for that. The captive did not make the slightest noise, but his very presence was enough to wake his son. He started at a bound from his couch, and his father retreated in dismay to his chamber.