I ran along beside it, and called to Olivant excitedly. He threw up the trap in the roof, and told the man to stop; leaned out over the apron to speak to me.
"Hullo, friend Tinman," he said genially, "where have you sprung from? And who let you loose from the house?"
"There's danger—great danger," I panted, standing on the step of the cab and whispering to him. "Everything has come out; young Mr. Millard is waiting there up the street—has been waiting there for hours."
"Well—what of it?" he asked; but I thought his face went suddenly pale.
"He swears that he will kill you, and he means to do it," I said.
Something of my own excitement seemed to communicate itself to Olivant; he became suddenly serious. Thrusting open the doors of the cab, he caught up the bag that was beside him on the seat, and got out. He paid the cabman, and then handed me the bag. "Come along," he said quickly; "there's another way into the place down this side street. We can't stand talking here."
So we gained his rooms in that secret fashion; and the moment we entered the manservant began to explain to him that Mr. Arnold Millard had called, and would call again. Olivant cut him short quickly. "There—that'll do; I know all about it," he said. "Understand that no one is to be admitted; I have not yet returned from the country. Any one who comes can leave a message."
He seemed curiously perturbed, I thought; he did not even refer at first to my own escape, or to the fact of my being in London so strangely. He went to a window, and pulled aside a curtain, and looked out; turned away with an exclamation, and looked at me. "How long has he been there?" he demanded.
"As I have told you—some hours," I said.
He went to the sideboard, and poured some neat spirits into a glass, and drained it. Then he came back to me, and, after a moment's hesitation, began to question me.