“Of course she knows who she is,” faltered old Dick. “And my eyesight ain’t clear—and it was a long time ago—and my memory ain’t good, of course, and——”
“And your wits don’t seem to be of the best, either,” snapped the young man. “You and Flagg better keep your tongues off that young lady. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Latisan. Yes, sir!”
Latisan stepped back and took hold of Dick by the sleeve of the ragged jacket. “Who did you think she was?”
“I guess I didn’t really think—I only dreamed,” was the old man’s stammering reply. “If you say she’s Patsy Jones that’s enough for me.”
“She says that she is—and that makes it so.” Latisan strode on his way.
Rickety Dick lifted his arms, then he lowered them without his “Praise the Lord!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CROWLEY, shrouded in the evening gloom, tapped on the parlor window the signal tattoo agreed upon between himself and Miss Elsham. The light in the parlor went out promptly and she came and replied to Crowley under the edge of the lifted sash. She had been apprised by her associate of the advent of Miss Kennard on the scene; Crowley had hastened to slip a note under her door.