“You're a dashed fool, old man,” said Walters sleepily to Harrington; “most likely she'll blue your fifty quid, and then blackmail——”
The doctor's hand descended upon the inspector's shoulder. “Shut up, you beastly old wretch—do you think all women are alike. Come, now, let us have another nip and get away. Mr. Harrington is tired. Sergeant!”
The sergeant came to the door.
“Thompson, take good care of that young lady. We happen to know her. If she awakes before eight o'clock in the morning, tell her that she is to stay with your wife till I come to see her at nine o'clock. Any effects, sergeant?”
“Yes, sir,” and the sergeant took out his note-book, “seven pawn tickets, five pennies, and a New Testament with 'Nellie Alleyne' written inside.”
“Here, give me those tickets, I'll take care of them; and Thompson, if the newspaper fellows come here to-night, say that the young lady fell over the wharf accidentally, and has gone home to her friends. See?”
“I see, sir,” said Thompson, as the good-hearted doctor slipped half a sovereign into his hand.
Then the three men stepped out into the street and strolled up to the Royal Hotel, and sat down in the smoking-room, which was filled with a noisy crowd, some of whom soon saw Walters and called him away, leaving the doctor and Harrington by themselves.
“Better take this back, Mr. Harrington,” and Dr. Parsons handed him his cheque. “Two or three pounds will be quite enough for the poor girl.”
“Not I,” said Harrington with a smile, “fifty pounds won't ruin me, as I said—and it may mean a lot to her, poor child. And I feel glad that I can help some one... some one who is all right, you know. Now I must be off. Good night, doctor.”