“How can I ever thank you enough, Mr. Booth?” said Bertha, as she stepped once more on the pavement fronting the Golden Bar. “How can I ever thank you enough for your kindness and courage?”
“Give me this hand to keep and take care of,” replied Alec with a sudden burst of emotional fervour, “and no scoundrel in the future shall dare to touch you!”
Bertha did not answer him as she stepped lightly to the doorway; then, half turning her head, she threw him one word as she disappeared.
“Perhaps!”
CHAPTER XXII
IN THE GARDENS
It was Sunday morning. Bertha, with her old friend the Professor by her side, was walking in the Botanic Gardens. For the third or fourth time she had re-told the tale of her abduction, for a third or fourth time they had speculated as to who the author of the outrage could be, and as to the identity of the bushy-whiskered man.
“Has Mr. Booth been to the cottage again?” asked the Professor.
“Yes, he went back at once, but it was empty, all but the one furnished room I was in, and no one was there. He inquired of the neighbours, and found that the place had been empty and to let for some time, and it was only a few days ago the board was taken down. Then he went to the house agent. This agent said that a bushy-whiskered man, giving the name of Brown, had taken the place and paid a month’s rent in advance. The furniture he happened to know, for it was part of his business to keep his eyes on new tenants, was obtained on the time-payment system. He told Alec—or, rather, Mr. Booth—the shop. The furniture man had seen this Mr. Brown, who had paid him a deposit on one room of furniture. He could say no more than that he was a middle-aged, bushy-whiskered man.”
“And has no more been found out?”
“No, nothing else. Alec wanted to put it in the hands of the police, but I would not have it. I would rather die than have to go in a police-court.”