We hurried in pursuit, but had only gone a few yards when some one caught me by the arm. I had previously realised that some one else was standing in the corridor, but my attention had been too much engrossed by Miss Moore to permit of my noticing who it was. I now perceived that it was Hume. He gripped my arm with what seemed unnecessary force, his countenance betraying a degree of agitation of which I had not thought him capable.
“Ferguson!” he cried. “Miss Adair! What is Miss Moore doing here?”
His recognition surprised me, even at such a moment.
“Do you know her?”
“I believe I have that pleasure.” His words sounded like a sneer, they were so bitterly uttered. “But what’s the meaning of it all? I spoke to her, but she passed without a sign of recognition. What’s the matter with her? She looks ill; where’s she going?”
“She’s going to Lawrence’s room.”
“Ferguson!” The increased pressure of his grasp showed that his strength was greater than I imagined.
“What’s she—going there for?”
“My business is to stop her going at all, not to stand here answering idiotic questions.”
I broke from him. The delay, brief though it had been, was sufficient to baffle my intentions. Miss Moore had arrived at No. 64. A policeman was standing without, seemingly acting as guardian of the portal.