This struck me as curious. Why should he meet his business friends so clandestinely—why should they come at night in a car to cross-roads?
But I told her nothing of what I had witnessed. I decided to keep my knowledge to myself.
“The boat leaves at two o’clock,” she said, after a pause, her hand upon her breast as though to stay the wild beating of her heart. “Will you not take my advice and leave by that? Go to Milan, and then straight on to England,” she urged in deep earnestness, her big, wide-open eyes fixed earnestly upon mine.
“No, Miss Pennington,” I replied promptly; “the fact is, I do not feel disposed to leave here just at present. I prefer to remain—and to take the risk, whatever it may be.”
“But why?” she cried, for we were standing at the end of the terrace, and out of hearing.
“Because you are in need of a friend—because you have admitted that you, too, are in peril. Therefore I have decided to remain near you.”
“No,” she cried breathlessly. “Ah! you do not know the great risk you are running! You must go—do go, Mr. Biddulph—go, for—for my sake!”
I shook my head.
“I have no fear of myself,” I declared. “I am anxious on your behalf.”
“Have no thought of me,” she cried. “Leave, and return to England.”