“Pray take care, my dear boy,” said Lord Barmouth; “don’t be violent.”
“We must get her away, father, at any cost,” said Viscount Diphoos, sternly. “What I want you to do is this—take charge of Maude, and get her to our hotel. Never mind me. I shall have the police to back me if the Italian scoundrel proves nasty.”
“But mind that he has no knife, my dear boy. Foreigners are dangerous.”
“If he attempts such a thing, dad, I’ll shoot him like a dog,” exclaimed the young man, hotly.
And then the door was thrown open, and they entered.
The room was empty, and upon the proprietor being consulted, it was announced that the gentleman and lady had left that evening by the Lyons mail.
Telegraph communication failed.