“Yes,” he said, as if waking from a dream. “One of the lads would take me over in his lugger. Saint Malo: that would do. Louy, what money have you?”
“Then it is true?” she said.
“True? Yes; it’s true enough.”
“Then you—oh, Harry, for pity’s sake—Harry!”
She burst into a wild fit of sobbing.
“That’s right,” he cried savagely. “I came to you for help and you go into hysterics. There, unlock that door, and get me something to eat, and while I’m enjoying myself, you can send Liza for the police.”
“Harry!”
“Then why don’t you act like a sensible girl? Listen: nobody must know that I have been here; not even the governor. I’m going to steal down to the harbour by-and-by; and I shall get Joe Lennen or Dick Paul to take me over to France. If I stay here I shall be arrested, and disgrace you all. There never was such an unlucky fellow as I am. Here, once more, what money have you?”
“Very little, Harry,” she said; “about three sovereigns.”
“Has aunt any? No; she must not know that I’m here. Louy, you must let me have your watch.”