“Quite right,” Latham said cordially. “And, Barker, if they should happen to come back, let me know at once, and I’ll speak to them.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And—Barker, did they see any one but you?”
“No, sir.”
“You are sure?”
“Oh yes, sir. I stood at the hall window and watched them until the road turned, and I couldn’t see them no more.”
“They will come back,” Helen almost sobbed as the door closed behind Barker.
“When they come back Hugh will not be here,” Latham told her confidently.
“Then you are going to help us?”
“Of course.” Latham smiled at her. In all his years of conventional rectitude, he had never defied the law of his land; and he fully realized the heinousness of aiding a deserter soldier to escape arrest—and in war time too—and its possible consequences. But he was staunch in friendship, he was greatly sorry for Helen, be the merits of Hugh’s case what they might, and he knew that Angela’s eye was on him. And this thing he could do. To raise the dead to the girl’s aid he had no necromancy, but to smuggle Hugh away he might easily compass, if no more time were lost. “Of course,” he repeated. “I must. Go and tell Hugh to come here as quickly as he can.”