“Mr Pradelle, eh?” he said with a grim smile. “Glad to make your acquaintance, sir, at last. You’ll come quietly?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Pradelle. “I’ve got an answer to the charge.”
“Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your pleasant little game. Shall I?”
“There’s no need,” said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation toward his wrists. “I know how to behave like a gentleman.”
“That’s right,” said the sergeant, who, with a display of delicacy hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on her face.
“It ain’t too late yet, Miss Louie,” said Pradelle, crossing towards her.
“Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins,” cried Uncle Luke.
“Right, sir. Now, Mr Pradelle.”
“Stop a moment, can’t you?” shouted the prisoner. “Miss Louie—to save him you’ll promise, and I’ll be dumb. I swear I will.”
Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast.