Atop this tall stocky body was a square not-unhandsome face, distinguished by a rather flat nose, a low broad forehead, angry hazel eyes and some of the fieriest red hair Justin had ever seen. The hazel eyes were regarding him even balefully.
"And who in hell be ye?" the newcomer inquired. He swung about as Deborah appeared behind him in the doorway, the back of one hand to her mouth. He said, "Is this some scurvy trick to put me further still in the thrall of my wretched wife?"
"Charles!" Deborah whispered reproachfully. "Ye promised...."
"I know it," Justin replied desperately, "but I had to hide somewhere. There's a mob chasing me through the streets."
"But e'en so ..." the girl began, then hesitated as the faint sound of the hue and cry could be heard from the streets outside.
The red-headed man's voice was sharp as the crack of an Australian bullwhip. He said, "That's Will Molineux!" Then, fiercely, to Justin, "What have ye done to bring Will and his cutthroats on ye'r tail?"
"I had a little trouble with Mr. Adams," Justin murmured.
"So!" The big man took a menacing step toward him. He glanced at Deborah, who appeared stricken, then said, "'Twould appear there is more in this entire episode than meets the eye. Mayhap ye'r one with my wretched wife and her wretched Tory friends."
He took another step toward Justin, obviously measuring him for a blow. Deborah gave a little cry and leapt forward, seizing his right arm and dragging upon it with all of her weight.
"Please!" she cried. "Please, Master Otis...."