“Yes, sir; Richard Armstrong. Let me hand you my card.”
The gentleman took it mechanically without removing his gaze from the lad’s face.
“Richard Armstrong!” he repeated, showing for the first time intense emotion.
“Yes, sir; but I see these rascals are beginning to move. I think we had better get away before they recover their senses.”
“Yes, do come,” urged Jennie Nesbitt, nervously.
“It’s a pity there isn’t a policeman about to take them into custody,” said Dick.
The boy with the blackened face at this point turned around and looked at Dick.
He gave a hoarse cry and almost grovelled at the lad’s feet.
“Save me, Dick Armstrong! Save me!” he cried with a frantic eagerness that was really pitiful. “Don’t you know me? I am Luke Maslin!”
Dick started as though he had trod on a live coal.