“Mr Leslie! Mr Leslie! for pity’s sake stay!” cried Louise as she made for the door; but Uncle Luke caught her hand, and retained it as the door swung to.
“Uncle, uncle!” she moaned, “what have you done?”
“Done?” he cried. “You mad, infatuated girl! My duty to my brother and to you.”
“All right,” said Pradelle, rising slowly. “Let’s have in the police then. I can clear myself, I dare say.”
“Mr Pradelle, if you have a spark of manliness in you, pray say no more,” cried Louise, as, snatching herself free, she ran to him now.
“Oh, I’m not going to be made a scapegoat!” he cried savagely; but as his eyes met hers full of piteous appeal, his whole manner changed, and he caught her hands in his.
“Yes, I will,” he whispered. “I’ll bear it all. It can’t be for long, and I may get off. Promise me—”
He said the rest of the words with his lips close to her ear.
“Your wife?” she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle. “No, no, no!”
There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant Parkins stepped in.