Risk met him in the hall with a quizzical smile.
“Found him out, I suppose, Hayward?”
“That’s for you to do, Mr. Risk,” was the blithe reply. “I found him in, and I fancy he’ll not move far to-night, at all events.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Risk, his eyes on the cane, “you whacked the beggar!”
“To the best of my ability.” Colin found his hand being shaken.
“It was splendid, Hayward,” Risk said gravely, “and we must hope it was also wise. Now we’ll forget about it for the present. Come along and have your coffee. We have heard Miss Carstairs’ story, and West and I are her willing servants, till she comes to her own. But, of course, she must not know we are working for her, and she must, if possible, be induced to forget those ugly little incidents of to-night—or, at any rate, be prevented from dwelling on them.”
A couple of hours later, the night being exquisite, Colin walked home with Kitty, West escorting Hilda.
“Mr. Risk is giving you plenty to do, isn’t he?” Kitty remarked, making an effort to shake off the feeling of restraint that had come upon her on finding herself alone with Colin.
“Yes,” said Colin, who was hampered by a similar sensation. “But he’s worth working for. He has given me a chance that I might have sought in vain all my life. But never mind about me, Kitty,” he went on. “I wish very much to know what you—or rather Miss Risk—told the others while I was absent to-night.”
“I think I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, after a short pause. “Mr. West, or Mr. Risk, will tell you, if you really want to know.”