“A policeman?”
“Something is wrong. No, no, don’t turn like that. It is not father, but Mr Van Heldre, so the man said. I think it is a fall.”
Harry Vine’s breath came thick and short. What should he do? Fly at once? No; that meant being taken and brought ignominiously back.
“Don’t hesitate, dear,” said Louise; “Pray come quickly.”
“Yes,” said Harry huskily. “Of course, I’ll come on. Will you—you go first?”
“Harry, what are you thinking, dear? Why do you look so shocked? Indeed I am not deceiving you.”
“Deceiving me?”
“No, dear; I am sure it is not papa who is hurt. There come along, and see—for Madelaine’s sake.”
She said these last words very softly, almost in a whisper; but the only effect they had upon him was to make him shudder.
What should he do—face the danger or go? He must face it; he knew he must. It was his only hope, and already his sister was hurrying him to the door—his sister, perhaps unconsciously to hand him over to the police.