“Where is Betty Modeyne?” he demanded roughly.
The girl faltered, uttered a moan, and leaning her handsome head on the white hand that clutched the mantel, gazed down upon the shattered thing.
“Where is Betty Modeyne?” he asked, putting his hand gently on her shoulder.
She sighed, and said miserably:
“I’m sorry, Noll—but, thank God, I cannot tell you. She is gone.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
Wherein, the Barber letting the Cat out of the Bag, we give Chase
In the gathering darkness of his dingy little room over the southern gate of New Inn sat Noll Baddlesmere in his shirt-sleeves, cudgelling his wandering wits for epigrams and the dramatic situation; yet though the dun walls did not distract his attention with the restlessness of over-abundant gaieties, nor the sedate quietude nor the narrow view from his grimy windows strain his nerves—indeed, he could scarce hear the turmoil of the traffic in the great Strand hard by—he was unable to settle down to hard work, nor could he rid himself of the fret of his thoughts.