'I have no family—no friends,' said Dulcie, with a sob in her throat, and starting up to withdraw in great alarm.
'Just so—not here, but at Ostend, perhaps.'
Thinking her questioner was mad or intoxicated, Dulcie, in growing terror, was about to move away when he laid a hand very decidedly on her left arm.
'Leave me,' she exclaimed, and on looking around her terror increased on seeing that no male aid was near her; 'who are you that ask these questions—that dare to molest me?'
'My name is Grabbley—Mr. Gilpin Grabbley, of Scotland Yard—oh, you'll know enough o' me, my dear, before I'm done with you. Come along: you're wanted partiklar—you are. Will you walk with me quietly?'
Perceiving that she was about to utter a shriek, he grasped her arm more tightly, even to the bruising of her soft tender skin, and said in a sharp hissing tone:
'Don't—don't make a row: 'taint no use, my beauty—you must come along with me.'
'Oh, what do you mean?' moaned Dulcie, almost incapable of standing now.
'Mean—why, that you are my prisoner, that is all.'
'Am I mad or dreaming? Oh, sir, this is some dreadful mistake.'