“No,” she said firmly, “I cannot promise that. Uncle dear, I have tried to save him to the last. I can do no more.”
“No,” said the old man, “you can do no more.”
“Mr Pradelle,” she cried, “you will not be so base?”
“Will you promise?” he cried.
“No.”
“Then—here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a word?”
“No,” roared Uncle Luke. “Take him away.”
“Then the sergeant here will,” cried Pradelle savagely. “Look here, sit down and wait for a few minutes, and you can take Harry Vine as well.”
“What do you mean?” cried the sergeant roughly.
“Only that he has gone out to raise the money for a bolt to France, and he’ll be back directly. Two birds with one stone.”