The words were addressed to Mr. Sutton, who did not seem able to shut the door. But the answer came from the other side of the door.
“By your leave,”—the voice, a little breathless, was Mrs. Gilson’s—“I’m coming in too.” And she came in at that, and brusquely. “I think you are over many men for one woman,” she continued, setting her cap straight, and otherwise not a whit discomposed by the men’s attitude. “You’ll want me before you are done, you’ll see.”
“Want you?” the strange man answered with sarcasm. “Then when we want you we’ll send for you.”
“No you’ll not, Joe Nadin,” she retorted, coolly, as she closed the door behind her. “For I’ll be here. What you will be wanting,” with a toss of her double chin, “will be wit. But that’s not to be had for the sending.”
Nadin—he was the deputy-constable of Manchester, and the most famous police officer of that day, a man as warmly commended by the Tory party as he was fiercely hated by the Radicals—would have given an angry answer. But Bishop was before him.
“Let her be,” he said—with friendly deference. “We may want her, as she says. And the young lady is waiting. Now, miss,” he continued, addressing Henrietta, who stood at the table trying to hide the perturbation which these preliminaries caused her, “I’ve brought Mr. Sutton to tell us in your presence what he knows. I doubt it won’t go far. So that when we have heard him we shall want a good deal from you.”
“Ay, from you, young lady,” the Manchester man struck in, taking the word out of the other’s mouth. “It will be your turn then. And what we want we must have, or——”
“Or what?” she asked, with an air of dignity that sat strangely on one so young. They did not guess how her heart was beating!
“Or ’twill be Appleby gaol!” he answered. “That’s the long and the short of it. There’s an end of shilly-shallying! You’ve to make your choice, and time’s precious. But the reverend gentleman has first say. Speak up, Mr. Chaplain! You followed this young lady last night about ten o’clock? Very good. Now what did you see and hear?”
Mr. Sutton looked miserably downcast. But he was on the horns of a dilemma, and while he knew that by speaking he forfeited all chance of Henrietta’s favour, he knew that he must speak: that he had no choice. Obstinate as he could be upon occasion, in the grasp of such a man as Nadin he succumbed. He owned that not the circumstances only but the man were too strong for him. Yet he made one effort to stand on his own legs. “I think Miss Damer would prefer to tell the tale herself,” he said, with a spark of dignity. “In that case I have nothing to say.”