“Your nephew, sir. I see it all now. What a fool I’ve been.”
“My nephew!—Not dead?”
“Harry—brother!” moaned Louise. “I could do no more. Ah!”
Uncle Luke fell a-trembling as he caught the half-insensible girl’s hand, gazing wildly at the sergeant the while.
“Look here, Pradelle, no more nonsense. Will he come back?”
“If you keep quiet of course. Not if he sees you.”
“All!” ejaculated the sergeant, crossing to the door as he heard a step; and hurrying out he returned directly with a constable in uniform.
“Stop!” he said shortly, and he nodded to the prisoner. “Very sorry, Mr Vine, sir,” he then said; “but you must stay here for a bit. I am going down to wait outside.”
“But, Parkins!” cried Uncle Luke, agitatedly, “I cannot. If this is true—that poor boy—no, no, he must not be taken now.”
“Too late, sir, to talk like that,” cried the sergeant. “You stop there.”