“Yes,” cried Miss Brodie, mimicking his tone, “it's to Sheratt, from Sir Archibald, and it means that Cameron is safe. The police will never—”
“The police,” cried Dunn, hastily, getting between young Rob and her and glancing at his brother, who stood looking from one to the other with a startled face.
“How stupid! The police are a truly wonderful body of men,” she went on with enthusiasm. “They look so splendid. I saw some of them as I came along. But never mind them now. About this letter. What's to do?”
Dunn glanced at his watch. “We need every minute.” He stood a moment or two thinking deeply while Miss Brodie chatted eagerly with Rob, whose face retained its startled and anxious look. “First to Mr. Rae's office. Come!” cried Mr. Dunn.
“But this letter ought to go.”
“Yes, but first Mr. Rae's office.” Mr. Dunn had assumed command. His words shot out like bullets.
Miss Brodie glanced at him with a new admiration in her face. As a rule she objected to being ordered about, but somehow it seemed good to accept commands from this young man, whose usually genial face was now set in such resolute lines.
“Here, Rob, you cut home and tell them not to wait dinner for me.”
“All right, Jack!” But instead of tearing off as was his wont whenever his brother gave command, Rob lingered. “Can't I wait a bit, Jack, to see—to see if anything—?” Rob was striving hard to keep his voice in command and his face steady. “It's Cameron, Jack. I know!” He turned his back on Miss Brodie, unwilling that she should see his lips quiver.
“What are you talking about?” said his brother sharply.