"No!" snapped Boyne. "You can't. You'll stay here."
"Do let me go—do," pleaded the other in that curious high-pitched voice. "I do want to see my garden again."
"You'll see the inside of a prison if you are not very careful," Boyne declared in a warning tone. "So don't think about going home."
"But am I never to go home?"
"At your own risk. Remember, I'll take no responsibility. Your description and photograph are in every police-station here and on the Continent, and, as I've told you lots of times, the moment you step outside into the street you will court danger. You'll be arrested by the first policeman who sees you!"
"Surely I may go home—if only for a day! You could take me there."
"Later on, perhaps," Boyne said encouragingly, in a tone which he would have adopted to a child. "For the present you must remain where you are, safe. And don't make a noise, otherwise somebody may hear you," he urged.
"I don't make any noise. I'm always so careful. And I only go out on the roof at night."
"The less you go out there the better," growled the insurance agent. "I run risks every time I come up to bring your food. Only the other day Mrs. Felmore was saying that Nibby seemed to have an enormous appetite. That's why I've brought you up that store of tinned stuff."
"I haven't had any tea for a week."