“A trick, a trumped-up charge,” cried Pradelle.
“You must prove that at the same time you clear yourself of robbing Van Heldre.”
“I—I rob Van Heldre! I swear I never had a shilling of his money.”
“You were not coming away when I knocked you down with old Crampton’s ruler, eh?”
Pradelle shrank from the upraised stick, and with an involuntary movement clapped his hand to his head.
“See that, Leslie!” cried the old man with a sneering laugh. “Yes, that was the place. I hit as hard as I could.”
“A trick, a trap! Bah! I’m not scared by your threats. You stand aside, and let us pass!” cried Pradelle in a loud, bullying way, as he tried to draw Louise toward the door; but she freed herself from his grasp.
“No, no!” she cried widely, as with her ears and eyes on the strain she glanced at window and door, and caught her uncle’s arm.
“Hah! glad you have so much good sense left. Nice scoundrel this to choose, my girl!”
“Uncle!” she whispered, “you shall let me explain.”