“My train’s at seven—I must go. Good-night, Miss Fratten—thank you for giving me tea—and for all you’ve done to make a beastly job bearable. Good-night, Mr. Fratten—you won’t mind if I wish you good luck? Good-night, Mr. Mangane.”
He turned on his heel and walked quickly to the door. The three others still sat, almost petrified by astonishment at the sudden change of situation. Inez was the first to recover herself; she sprang to her feet and ran after Poole shutting the door firmly behind her. The detective was just opening the front door.
“Mr. Poole, wait!” she said.
He turned back to meet her.
“I just wanted to say—that letter of Captain Wraile’s—they’re desperate people, Mr. Poole—do be—do be as careful as you can.”
Poole looked down into the girl’s flushed face and sparkling eyes—eyes in which sympathy and anxiety at least were present. A great longing seized him.
“If you . . .” he forced back the words that were surging to his lips. “Thank you, Miss Fratten,” he said. “I shall do my duty.”
He turned abruptly, opened the door, and walked out into the night.
Transcriber’s Note
This transcription follows the text of the edition published by Payson & Clarke Ltd in 1929. The following changes have been made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous printer’s errors.