But Sir James was close to it, and catching the boy by the arm he held him.
“Take hold, of him, my man,” he said; “and don’t let him go.”
Peter obeyed, getting a tight grip of Dexter’s wrist.
“Now, you give in,” he whispered. “It’s no good, for I shan’t let go.”
“Bring him down,” said Sir James sternly.
Peter shook his head warningly at Dexter, and then, as Sir James and the doctor went down to their room, Peter followed with his prisoner, who looked over the balustrade as if measuring the distance and his chance if he made a jump.
“Now,” said Sir James, as the boy was led into the room; “stand there, sir, and I warn you that if you attempt to run away I shall have in the police, and be more stern. You, my man, go and tell the gardener to bring up the other boy.”
Peter left the room after giving Dexter a glance, and the doctor began to walk up and down angrily. He wanted to take the business into his own hands, but Sir James was a magistrate, and it seemed as if he had a right to take the lead.
There was a painful silence, during which Dexter stood hanging his head, and feeling as if he wished he had been drowned, instead of being brought round to undergo such a painful ordeal as this.
Ten minutes must have elapsed before a scuffling was heard upon the stairs, and Bob Dimsted’s voice whimpering—