“Miss Gwen,” exclaimed her friend a few moments later, “I would really urge you to have a care of yourself. Your enemies evidently mean mischief. You have, by a blackguardly ruse, been parted from the man you love—hence you are defenceless.”
“Except for you—my true friend.”
“I may have to leave London suddenly, while at any moment, you may, if you are not careful, fall again into the net they will, no doubt, spread and cleverly conceal. They fear your father and his friends, and from him will demand a price for you—a price for your honour, most likely.”
“What do you mean?” she cried, starting, and staring at him.
“I am compelled to speak frankly, Miss Gwen; please forgive me,” he said. “I know these men, remember. I know they will hesitate at nothing in order to gain their dastardly ends. They will compel your father to pay the price—and it will be the relinquishing of the struggle, and the leaving of it to them.”
“We will never relinquish it!” declared the girl. “But do have a care of yourself,” urged the man with the bristly moustache in deep earnestness. “If you again fall into the hands of these two men, you will not, I fear, escape without disaster.”
“I know that, alas! only too well. I owe everything to your kindness and the pity you had for me. How can I ever sufficiently repay you?”
“You are now repairing me—repaying me with all you love most dearly. Your silence has cost you your lover.”
She sighed, and hot tears rose to her splendid eyes. He was quick to notice her sudden change, and deftly turned the conversation into a different channel.
Then, when he had smoked another cigarette, chatting the while, he reminded her to tell her father of Erich Haupt, and to say that he, “Red Mullet”, would call on the following day.