“Your wife?” she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle. “No, no, no!”
There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant Parkins stepped in.
“Mr Pradelle, eh?” he said with a grim smile. “Glad to make your acquaintance, sir, at last. You’ll come quietly?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Pradelle. “I’ve got an answer to the charge.”
“Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your pleasant little game. Shall I?”
“There’s no need,” said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation toward his wrists. “I know how to behave like a gentleman.”
“That’s right,” said the sergeant, who with a display of delicacy hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on her face.
“It ain’t too late yet, Miss Louy,” said Pradelle crossing toward her.
“Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins,” cried Uncle Luke.
“Right sir. Now, Mr Pradelle.”