“You wicked old man,” she said, “you would have hurt me! You wicked monster! But I am stronger, much stronger than you, and I do not fear you. Now I am going unless you tell me at once.”
He ceased to gibber to her. He beckoned to her to approach him. But she shook her head. He no longer had the stool, but he might have some weapon hidden under the seat of the settle. She distrusted him.
“No,” she said, “I am not coming near you. You are a villainous old man, and I don’t trust you.”
“Have you no—no money?” he whimpered. “Nothing to give old Hinkson? Poor old Hinkson?” with a feeble movement of his fingers on his knees, as if he drew bed-clothes about him.
“Where is Walterson?” she repeated. “Tell me at once.”
“How do I know?” he whined. “I don’t know.”
“He was here. You do know. Tell me.”
He averted his eyes and held out a palsied hand.
“Give!” he answered. “Give!”
But she was relentless.