Janet felt that the safety of this house, which she had perhaps betrayed otherwise, but in which her own safety now lay, demanded all her exertions. Despair had given her force. She was beginning to recover her color in the stimulation of this dreadful emergency.
“That’s one way of looking at it, miss,” said the policeman. “My mates they are busy a-hearing all the nonsense that them fellows can tell them. I don’t believe they knows anything about it, for my part. I’ll just wait here, sir, if I may, with leave, till I hears the doctor’s last report.”
“Mr. Harwood is just going in, and he’ll bring it to you,” said Janet.
She dared not say any more, but she pointed towards the dining-room door with an imperative movement. It was fortunate for Dolff that, at this moment, his sister appeared. She came quickly into the hall, with an exclamation of satisfaction.
“Oh, Dolff, you are here! I am thankful you are here. Have they got the man? I have told them there will be a reward——”
Dolff could say nothing to his sister. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. He repeated as he had done before, with a dull reiteration.
“Is he dead? He is not dead?”
“Oh, no, no, no, God be praised! That’s the chief thing, isn’t it?”
Gussy went up to her brother and twined her arm within his and, leaning upon his shoulder, cried a little, with faint sobs. She was not a demonstrative person, and the movement took him entirely by surprise. He stood with his hands in his pockets, dully supporting her, saying nothing, his mouth open and jaw dropped. There was no power of tragic expression in Dolff’s commonplace countenance; but there was a dumb sort of quiescent misery in it. He was capable of nothing, not even of a word to shield himself. But then there was no one there who suspected him—only Janet, who knew, and whose interest it was to protect him—to silence all possibility of suspicion. She stood looking on, conscious of the respectful sympathy of the policeman with the brother and sister, and feeling a new and fierce impulse of hatred rising in her heart towards the young man whom she was exerting herself so strenuously to save.
In the midst of these efforts there came into her mind so strong an impulse to denounce him that Janet was afraid of herself. Even while she was scheming how best to divert all suspicion the voice seemed to struggle up in her almost audibly—“Take him! take him. That is the man!” How could she be sure that she would not yield to it at some moment when the sight of him had driven her frantic with indignation and impatience? That Gussy should seek his sympathy; that everybody should look to Dolff to direct the search; that the very constable—and all the time he was the man—he was the man!