“Don’t look round, George,” he whispered; “for Heaven’s sake keep to the ropes or you are lost. Slip the pocket-book in my hand, and I will try and get the detective out of the boat.”
“Would it be penal servitude, Maurice?” muttered the lad, and his face turned a ghastly hue at the thought of the human blood-hound behind him.
“Five or ten years at least,” returned Maurice. “Were you mad, George? Give it to me—quick—quick! and I will put him on the wrong scent. That’s right,” as the shaking hands pushed a heavy brown pocket-book toward him. “Good-by, George; say your prayers to-night, and thank God that you are saved.”
“Staunton,” he said, aloud, as the detective approached him, “we are wrong; he is in the bow of the ‘Brown Bess,’ and he sails in the ‘Prairie Flower;’” and as he uttered the first lie that he had ever told in his guileless young life Maurice looked full in the detective’s face and led him quietly away.
But a couple of hours later—when Staunton was losing his temper over their want of success, and the “Washington” was steaming out of the dock—Maurice suddenly produced the pocket-book, and proposed that they should take the next train back for London. “For I am very tired,” finished Maurice, with provoking good-humor; “and Mr. Huntingdon will sleep better to-night if we give him back his five thousand pounds.”
“You let the rogue go!” exclaimed Staunton, and he swore savagely. “You have cheated justice and connived at his escape.”
“Yes,” answered Maurice, calmly. “Don’t put yourself out, my good fellow. I will take all the blame. He sailed in the ‘Washington,’ and there she goes like a bird. You are out of temper because I was too sharp for you. Evil communications corrupt good manners, Staunton. I have taken a leaf out of your book—don’t you think I should make a splendid detective?” continued Maurice, rattling on in pure boyish fun. “I got up the little fiction about the ‘Brown Bess’ and the ‘Prairie Flower’ when I saw him dressed like a sailor, with a patch over his eye, hauling in the ropes.”
Then, as Staunton uttered another oath:
“Why, did you expect me to bring back my old chum, when I knew they would give him five or ten years of penal servitude? Do you think I am flesh and blood and could do it? No! I have kept my promise, and brought back the five thousand pounds, and not a farthing of it would he or you have seen but for me.”
Perhaps Staunton was not as hard-hearted as he seemed, for he ceased blustering and shook Maurice’s hand very heartily; nay, more, when they told their story, and Mr. Huntingdon frowned angrily on hearing Maurice had connived at the criminal’s escape, he spoke up for Maurice. “You did not expect the young gentleman, sir, to put the handcuffs on his old pal; it is against human nature, you see.”