“Not against her will, I fear,” spoke Arnold Knox from between his condemning lips. “Where are they now, Lotty?”
“On the platform, quarrelling; and still struggling which shall keep possession of Mina. I came running here to fetch you, Arnold, and I believe I shall never get my breath again.”
With one accord we all, Cattledon excepted, set off to the station; even old Tamlyn proved he had some go in his legs yet. Tod reached it first: few young men could come up to him at running.
Sam Jenkins had exchanged his hold of Mina for a hold on Captain Collinson. The two were struggling together; but Sam’s grasp was firm, and he held him as in a vice. “No, no,” he was saying, “you don’t escape me, captain, until some one comes here to take charge of Mina.” As to Mina, little simpleton, she cowered in the shade of the corner, shivering and crying. The station-master and the two night-porters stood about, gaping and staring.
Tod put his hand on the captain’s shoulder; his other hand momentarily holding back Dr. Knox. “Since when have you been Captain Collinson,” he quietly asked.
The captain turned his angry eyes upon him. “What is that to you?” he retorted. “I am Captain Collinson; that is enough for you.”
“Enough for me, and welcome. Not enough, as I judge, for this gentleman here,” indicating the doctor. “When I knew you your name was not Collinson.”
“How dare you insult me?” hissed the captain. “My name not Collinson!”
“Not at all!” was Tod’s equable answer. “It used to be Fabian Pell.”