“What do you mean?” cried the sergeant roughly.
“Only that he has gone out to raise the money for a bolt to France, and he’ll be back directly. Two birds with one stone.”
“Only a trick, sir,” said the sergeant grimly. “Now, Mr Pradelle, hansom or four-wheeler? I give you your choice.”
“Four-wheeler,” said Pradelle, with a sneering laugh.
“My poor brother!” moaned Louise, as she made a clutch at the air, and then sank fainting in her uncle’s arms.
“You scoundrel! to speak like that,” cried Uncle Luke fiercely.
“Here, what do you mean?” said the sergeant.
“What I said. He wasn’t drowned. Harry was too clever for that.”
Click—Click!
A pair of handcuffs were fastened to his wrists with marvellous celerity, and he was swung into a chair.