"Thank you, Dawkins," said Murray Olivant, with a nod; "that was rather neatly done. Now, will you have the goodness to run through his pockets, and see if you can find anything?"
I made a feeble attempt to struggle, but it was useless. The deft fingers of Mr. Dawkins swiftly brought to light the note that young Millard had written but a few hours before; he tossed it across to Olivant. The latter opened it slowly, and read what was written there by the light of the gas jet. Then he turned to me, and shook his head.
"Oh, you sly devil!" he said in a whisper.
CHAPTER VI
[LOVE WITH THE VEILED FACE]
I crouched there on the floor, with my arms securely pinioned behind me, and unable to cry out. The man Dawkins had seated himself, after making certain that he had secured me; Murray Olivant had finished his perusal of the note, and was standing tapping his lips with it, evidently deep in thought. He pulled out his watch and looked at it; slipped the watch back into his pocket, and turned again to the note. He read it aloud—with interpolations of his own.
"My Dearest (like his impudence, I must say!),—
"That good fellow Tinman (oh, you sly devil!) will tell you what I have decided to do. I will be waiting at the path that leads into the wood at about eight o'clock; you are to come with Tinman without fear (brave, sweet, kind Tinman, so very useful in a crisis!). He will bring you to me, and after that you will have nothing to trouble about. Trust me as much as I know you love me, and all will be well. Until we meet in an hour or two,
"Ever your own,
"Arnold."
He twisted up the note, and came slowly across the room to where I crouched waiting. While he talked to me, in that hard deadly level voice of his, he launched a kick at me every now and then to punctuate what he said.
"You thought I was safely out of the way."—A kick.—"You meant to play me false, and send this boy flying, with love for company—eh?"—Another kick.—"You dog!—do you think you're likely to win in such a game as this, when you're fighting against me?"—Another kick more savage than the others.—"Look at him, Dawkins; see how brave he is now!"