“Stop a moment, can’t you?” shouted the prisoner. “Miss Louy—to save him you’ll promise, and I’ll be dumb. I swear I will.”
Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast.
“No,” she said firmly. “I cannot promise that, Uncle dear. I have tried to save him to the last. I can do no more.”
“No,” said the old man. “You can do no more.”
“Mr Pradelle,” she cried, “you will not be so base?”
“Will you promise?” he cried.
“No.”
“Then—here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a word?”
“No,” roared Uncle Luke. “Take him away.”
“Then the sergeant here will,” cried Pradelle savagely. “Look here, sit down and wait for a few minutes, and you can take Harry Vine as well.”