"You were the cause of that!" I broke in hotly.
"Pardon me; had you never appeared upon the scene she would have been quite content to remain under my care," he retorted.
"Had I never appeared upon the scene, she would before this have been in her grave," I said.
He showed his teeth for a moment in a grin, but said nothing to that. "She was discovered in almost a dying condition. I was communicated with and went to her at once," he proceeded. "She is now in a private nursing home, and so soon as she has recovered I intend to take her abroad. I need not assure you that she is receiving, and will receive, every possible attention and luxury that money can command."
"And you came to tell me this?" I enquired bitterly.
"Out of pure kindness," he answered with a grin. "I knew you would be anxious, and I knew that you took a deep interest in the young lady." He rose to his feet, and carefully polished his hat upon his sleeve, holding the hat in his right hand, and turning it dexterously round and round against the arm he still carried in a sling. "But I came also to say," he went on in a sterner tone, "that with this ends your connection with her and with me. I am not to be trifled with again; keep out of my way."
"One moment, Dr. Just," I interposed, keeping my place before the door. "As you have been so frank with me, it is fair that I should be as frank with you. I warn you that I shall take not the faintest notice of your request, and that I shall, if possible, discover the lady. My power is a greater one than yours, because my power is from the heart. I shall beat you yet; I shall save her yet!"
He laughed and raised his eyebrows, and turned towards Harvey Scoffold. "Did you ever see such a fellow?" he asked. "He is as full of words as ever, although he knows that he can do nothing."
I opened the door, and saw the two men pass out and go down the street. I watched them gloomily for a moment or two from the open window. I was almost in a mood to follow them, but I realised that they were scarcely likely to lead me to Debora. I must be patient; I must hope for a miracle to happen to show me the way to Debora.
After all, it was no miracle that happened, for one could scarcely connect a miracle with the prosaic figure of Andrew Ferkoe. As I looked from my window I saw Andrew coming down the street, reading a newspaper, and reading it so intently that he was continually knocking against people on the same pavement, and continually, as I could see, muttering apologies, and then resuming his reading. I was not best pleased to see him at that time; for although he still lodged with me until such time as I could decide what to do with him, he spent a great part of the day abroad in the streets. Now, however, after knocking at the door and being admitted, he came upstairs at a great rate, and burst into my room with the newspaper in his hand.