The idiot gave a shrill cry, bounded up on a box and stood on his head, his legs kicking in the air.
“See!” chuckled the old man. “Bombee minds me. If I was to tell him to bite you he would, but I won’t tell him.”
“You let us go!” demanded Cora, her thoughts in a whirl with the strange ideas that came to her mind.
“I didn’t ask you to come here,” snapped the old man. “And them as comes uninvited must stay until they’re let go. Ye can’t go out and bring in the police.”
“But if—if we promise not to tell the police?” faltered Bess.
“I wouldn’t trust you,” snarled the old man.
“Then there must be something here about which you are afraid,” said Cora, boldly. “Why do you fear the police?”
The man gave her a sharp glance.
“Never you mind that,” he said. “When the others come I’ll know what to do with you. I’ll make you——”
He paused and seemed to be listening. At the same time the idiot gave a whimpering cry.