“Oh, sir!”
“'Oh, sir!'” repeated the tramp, impatiently. “I can't stay here all day. Are you going to do as I tell you?”
“I suppose I must,” said the poor woman.
“That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to find that money and bring it down.”
“You'll leave the spoons, then?”
“No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are passed. I don't want to kill you, but—”
Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from just outside the window.
“Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian shall not harm you.”
It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.
“What business is it of yours?” he demanded, in a blustering tone.