He gazed on the floor in front of his feet. “What would you do if the authorities were sneaking after you?” he asked suddenly. Morten stared at him for a time. Then he opened a drawer and took out a revolver. “I wouldn’t let them lay hands on me,” he said blackly. “But why do you ask me?”
“Oh, nothing…. Will you do me a favor, Morten? I have promised to take up a collection for those poor creatures from the ‘Ark,’ but I’ve no time for it now. They have lost all their belongings in the fire. Will you see to the matter?”
“Willingly. Only I don’t understand——”
“Why, I have got to go away for a time,” said Pelle, with a grim laugh. “I have always wanted to travel, as you know. Now there’s an opportunity.”
“Good luck, then!” said Morten, looking at him curiously as he pressed his hand. How much he had guessed Pelle did not know. There was Bornholm blood in Morten’s veins; he was not one to meddle in another’s affairs.
And then he was in the streets again. No, Morten’s way out was of no use to him—and now he would give in, and surrender himself to the authorities! He was in the High Street now; he had no purpose in hiding himself any longer.
In North Street he saw a figure dealing with a shop-door in a very suspicious manner; as Pelle came up it flattened itself against the door. Pelle stood still on the pavement; the man, too, was motionless for a while, pressing himself back into the shadow; then, with an angry growl, he sprang out, in order to strike Pelle to the ground.
At that very moment the two men recognized one another. The stranger was Ferdinand.
“What, are you still at liberty?” he cried, in amazement. “I thought they had taken you!”
“How did you know that?” asked Pelle.