While he still stood hesitating whether to follow and force his company on him whether he would or no, there was a sound outside the door which made him start—the rustle of a woman’s dress, the well-known intonation of a woman’s voice.
“My Ronny; is he here? And Frank—Frank?”
Fenella had arrived.
She came in, radiant with hope and joy, holding out her hands to Jacynth, who came slowly forward and clasped them in his own.
“My Ronny,” she repeated. “Ah, how happy you have made me. I shall have both Ronny and Frank again. Take me to them at once; I cannot bear another instant of delay.”
CHAPTER XXII.
BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
“Mersey Street, sir? Oh, yes; first to the right, second to the left, and then third to the right.”
Frank Onslow nodded his thanks and hurried away, trying hard to retain the sequence of rights and lefts in his confused brain; while the policeman whom he had questioned stood looking after him and beating his gloves.
“What does he want down Mersey Street? No accounting for these swells.”
Onslow had not noticed the man’s manner, but he could not help hesitating for a moment as he reached the street named; and he hesitated again as he paused at the open door of No. 10—open, as he thought, like a trap.