"No," said Flora.
"Look 'ere, girl,"—Dirk's fat, short-fingered paw fell on her shoulders—"we ain't soft—do you get me? We knows what we're torkin' abaht. Mister Barraclough is 'ere and the sooner——"
"Tut, tut, tut," Harrison Smith interrupted. "Don't talk like that, Dirk—you're scaring the girl. Now listen to me. Your Master has enemies, we're his friends. It is of the utmost importance we should see him at once." He moved away and opened the door of Mrs. Barraclough's bedroom. "As a matter of fact his life depends upon it."
"Yus—'is life," Dirk echoed.
"I tell you my master is not here."
"Isn't 'e—isn't 'e." Dirk's two hands fastened on Flora's wrist and twisted the flesh in contrary directions, a domestic form of torture known to the initiated as the Burning Bracelet.
"Let go, you brute—let go," she cried, and with her free hand caught him a full swinging slap across the face.
What particular line Dirk's resentment would have taken is unknown, for Harrison Smith came quickly between them with a muttered order and at the same time the door opened and Jane ran in. It speaks well for her courage that she did not cry out or betray alarm.
"Jane," gasped Flora very quickly, "these men want to see master—I've told them he isn't here——"
"Quiet you," said Dirk threateningly, while Harrison Smith descended on the new arrival under a coverlet of smiles.