That young man, however, was having his own trials. In his search for Maitland he ran across McNish, whom he recognised as Annette's partner in the first dance.
“Hello!” he cried. “Do you know where Captain Maitland is, by any chance?”
“No, how should I know,” replied McNish, in a voice fiercely guttural.
“Oh!” said Vic, somewhat abashed. “I saw you dance with Annette—with Miss Perrotte—and I thought perhaps you might know where the Captain was.”
McNish stood glowering at him for a moment or two, then burst forth:
“They are awa'—he's ta'en her awa'.”
“Away,” said Vic. “Where?”
“To hell for all I ken or care.”
Then with a single stride McNish was close at his side, gripping his arm with fingers that seemed to reach the bone.
“Ye're a friend o' his. Let me say tae ye if ony ill cames tae her, by the leevin' God above us he wull answer tae me.” Hoarse, panting, his face that of a maniac, he stood glaring wild-eyed at the young man before him. To say that Vic was shaken by this sudden and violent onslaught would be much within the truth. Nevertheless he boldly faced the passion-distracted man.