“I swear that you shan’t see, master. There!”
Tod flung him aside. Cookum, something like an eel, slipped under Tod’s arm, and was in front of him again.
“I don’t care to damage you, Cookum, as you must see I could do, and force my way in over your disabled body; you look too weak for it. But I’ll either go in so, or the police shall clear an entrance for me.”
The mention of the police scared the man; I saw it in his face. Tod kept pushing on and the man backing, just a little.
“I won’t have no police here. What is it you want?”
“I have told you once. A man named Arne.”
“I swear then that I never knowed a man o’ that name; let alone having him in my place.”
And he spoke with such passionate fervour that it struck me Arne did not go by his own name: which was more than probable. They were past the stairs now, and Cookum did not seem to care to guard them. The nasty passage, long and narrow, had a door at the end. Tod thought that must be the fortress.
“You are a great fool, Cookum. I’ve told you that I mean no harm to you or to any one in the place; so to make this fuss is needless. You may have a band of felons concealed here, or a cart-load of stolen goods; they are all safe for me. But if you force me to bring in the police it might be a different matter.”
Perhaps the argument told on the man; perhaps the tone of reason it was spoken in; but he certainly seemed to hesitate.