“Yours,” answered that worthy, still keeping his eyes fixed on his prisoner’s face, which had now turned a sickly green.
“And mine is hidden behind Miss Benton’s greenhouse unless they’ve moved it,” remarked Algy.
“Good,” said Hugh. “Algy, take Miss Benton and her father up to Half Moon Street—at once. Then come back here.”
“But, Hugh——” began the girl appealingly.
“At once, dear, please.” He smiled at her tenderly, but his tone was decided. “This is going to be no place for you in the near future.” He turned to Longworth and drew him aside. “You’ll have a bit of a job with the old man,” he whispered. “He’s probably paralytic by now. But get on with it, will you? Get a couple of the boys to give you a hand.”
With no further word of protest the girl followed Algy, and Hugh drew a breath of relief.
“Now, you ugly-looking blighter,” he remarked to the cowering ruffian, who was by this time shaking with fright, “we come to you. How many of these rooms up here are occupied—and which?”
It appeared that only one was occupied—everyone else was below.... The one opposite.... In his anxiety to please, he moved towards it; and with a quickness that would have done even Hugh credit, the American tripped him up.
“Not so blamed fast, you son of a gun,” he snapped, “or there sure will be an accident.”
But the noise he made as he fell served a good purpose. The door of the occupied room was flung open, and a thin, weedy object clad in a flannel nightgown stood on the threshold blinking foolishly.