“Yes, a pawnbroker—or a moneylender, at any rate. I want to raise some money—at once.”
“But—the Major——” he stammered.
“I don’t want Major Ambrose to know anything about it. It’s for my brother—you’ll have seen him at home?”
“And a fine young gentleman he was,” mechanically. “But you don’t understand, ma’am—it ain’t the thing——”
“I tell you I must have it. If you won’t help me I must ask the servants. But”—with the air of one making a huge concession—“I don’t mind handing the jewellery over to you, so that you can get the money as if for yourself.”
“But the look of it, ma’am! How could I put the money in your hands? The Major must become aware——”
“Very well, then—tell me where the man lives, or show me the way there, and I’ll do it myself.”
“You can’t, ma’am, believe me. You don’t seem to see——”
“I see what must be done, and that I’ll have to do it if you won’t. That’s plain, ain’t it?”
The unhappy Carthew pondered the matter. “There is a fellow,” he said reluctantly at last, “that has a garden somewhere this way. If he should so happen to be there to-day, it would be better than goin’ to his house in the Bazar. Have you the—the goods with you, ma’am?”