“Nothing against the dead,” said Nancy, speaking in a strong full tone; “I forbid you.”
“No, we won’t mention his name,” said Simpkins. “I honour you, madam, for your loyalty. But as matters have turned out, he might, poor fellow, have met a worse fate. I won’t say any more. Whatever his faults he died true to us. Mrs. Rowton, it has been our misfortune to get into the black books of the law, and even at this moment the house is surrounded by police.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I say. The police have got wind of our whereabouts. They will burst into this room in a moment or two. No they cannot touch the dead, but you must leave us, madam.”
“Is your name Simpkins?” inquired Nance suddenly.
“Yes, madam.”
“Then I have a message for you from my husband. He said that you knew of the whereabouts of his nephew, Murray Cameron. His last injunction to me was to find the boy. I must find him. Will you help me?”
“Yes,” said Scrivener, who came forward at that moment. “We’ll both help you, lady. We do not want the boy any more. Our School is broken up after to-night. Go at once, Mrs. Rowton. I know your hotel. Your husband’s nephew will join you there before the morning. Go now.”
A sudden noise was heard downstairs—the trampling of feet.