“One more,” he said, “sitting there, please, and holding out one arm—thus—gadzooks—prithee——”
He opened a door in his bureau and stood stooping over it, his back to Robert. The opportunity of thus catching the oppressor of his beloved bending was too much for Robert. He leapt upon his back calling out to the girl:
“Get your things on—quick.... I’ll tie him up.”
“Good heavens!” said the artist, “the blighter’s turned dangerous.”
The artist was stronger than he looked and he soon had Robert neatly trussed. Then he turned to Gloria.
“A boy brought him,” he said, “go and see if you can find him outside.”
But there were no boys outside.
The Outlaws, who had watched events through the French window till now, were hurrying homewards to establish alibis.
******
Yet on the way they called at the house of the little girl with the auburn curls. They had undertaken a responsibility to her and they meant to see it through. She was not sitting on the doorstep so, summoning courage by degrees, they knocked at the door. A woman opened it. Inside the kitchen sat a man eating a pork-pie at a table. The little girl was nursing a doll by the fire.