Involuntarily the girl lifted her eyes.
“For the last time, Kitty, will you give me your word that you will marry me as soon as I can get—”
She sprang to her feet. “You miserable fool,” she cried, “I’d rather be dead!”
He grinned. “The more you hurt me, the more I love you! It’s no use fighting me, Kitty. I’m going to win,” he declared, “for you’re bound to give in. Why? Because my second prisoner shall not get so much as a crust until you give me your word! Remember, you forced me to it.” He swung round to the door.
“You coward,” she gasped, “who is your second prisoner?”
Without answering he went out. It was as though her wall of defence had suddenly crumbled into ruins.
CHAPTER XXIV
On the third evening following that of Kitty’s disappearance, Risk was reading a letter which the last post had just brought him. The letter was from Anthony West, and the important part of it ran as follows:—
“I have now completed the arrangements according to your instructions. The town is only twenty miles from Dunford, and the road between is excellent. Besides, the moon will oblige on the night appointed. I am no judge of cars, but think I have engaged the sort you require. . . . I saw the postman yesterday. He is fairly on the mend now, but worrying at not hearing from Miss Kitty. Herewith three snapshots of him, taken while sitting on the hospital veranda. By the way, I gathered that he would not seek to lift a finger against Corrie without Kitty’s permission. . . . Corrie is a hard nut. He takes me for a friend of Kitty’s late father, and I have allowed him to think that my first inquiry was prompted more by a belated sense of duty than by any real interest in the girl. I dropped into the post-office about closing time last night, and found him less disinclined to talk. He said nothing directly against his niece, merely remarking that in the face of his advice she had gone to London, where she had friends, and that while she had not yet written, he hoped he might be able to hand me her address before long. To extract truth from such a person will take a bit of doing. The sister, I learn from the gossips, has been ill, though not seriously so, for the last few days. I should add that Corrie goes about saying that the burning of his mill was a piece of foul play. A man told me to-day that it was not insured. . . . No word of Symington. He has not been seen in Dunford for more than a week. As far as I can gather, no one would regret his permanent absence. . . . I see Zeniths have jumped to £8. Do you still say they are worth £12? I almost wish I had taken your advice, and pawned my shirt! . . . Well, I am looking forward to our meeting here on Thursday with pleasure, not to say curiosity. What’s the game, I wonder? But, perhaps, you will have found Kitty and Colin before then—God make it so . . . ”
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