Pradelle started back as if he had been stung.
"Police?" he said. "What do you mean?"
"What a man does mean, you scoundrel, when he talks about them--to give
you into custody."
"It is not a criminal offence to elope with a lady," said Pradelle, with
a malicious look at Leslie, who stood before the door with his hands
clenched.
"Uncle!" cried Louise, whose pale face now flamed up as she glanced at
Leslie, and saw that he avoided her eyes.
"You wait," he said. "I'll finish with this fellow first, and end by
taking you home."
"But, uncle, let me explain."
"You'll hold your tongue!" cried Pradelle sharply. "Think what you are
going to do."
"Yes, she can hold her tongue," cried Uncle Luke, "while I settle our
little business, sir. Let me see. Ah! I was always sure of that."
Pradelle had thrust himself forward offensively, and in a threatening
manner so near that the old man had only to dart out one hand to seize
him by the throat; and quick as lightning had drawn an old gold ring
from the scarf the young man wore.
"What are you doing?" roared Pradelle, clenching his fist.
"Taking possession of my own. Look here, Leslie, my old signet-ring
that scoundrel took from a nail over my chimney-piece."
"It's a lie, it's--"
"My crest, and enough by itself to justify the police being called up."
"A trick, a trumped-up charge," cried Pradelle.
"You must prove that at the same time you clear yourself of robbing Van
Heldre."
"I--I rob Van Heldre! I swear I never had a shilling of his money."
"You were not coming away when I knocked you down with old Crampton's
ruler, eh?"
Pradelle shrank from the upraised stick, and with an involuntary
movement clapped his hand to his head.
"See that, Leslie!" cried the old man with a sneering laugh. "Yes, that
was the place. I hit as hard as I could."
"A trick, a trap! Bah! I'm not scared by your threats. You stand
aside, and let us pass!" cried Pradelle in a loud, bullying way, as he
tried to draw Louise toward the door; but she freed herself from his
grasp.
"No, no!" she cried wildly, as with ears and eyes on the strain she
glanced at window and door, and caught her uncle's arm.
"Hah! glad you have so much good sense left. Nice scoundrel this to
choose, my girl!"
"Uncle!" she whispered, "you shall let me explain."
"I don't want to hear any explanation," cried the old man angrily. "I
know quite enough. Will you come home with me?"
"Yes!" she cried eagerly, and Leslie drew a breath full of relief.
"No!"
The negative came like a cry of agony.
"I cannot, uncle, I cannot."
"I'll see about that," cried the old man. "Now, Leslie, ask Sergeant
Parkins to step up here."
"Let him if he dares!" cried Pradelle fiercely.
"Oh, he dares," said Uncle Luke, smiling. "Call him up, for it is a
criminal case, after all."
"Stop!" cried Pradelle, as Leslie laid his hand upon the door.
"Yes, stop--pray, pray stop!" cried Louise in agony; and with a wild
look of horror, which stung Leslie with jealous rage. "Uncle, you must
not do this."
"I'd do it if it was ten times as hard!" cried the old man.
"What shall I say--what shall I do?" moaned Louise. "Uncle, uncle, pray
don't do this. You must not send for the police. Give me time to
explain--to set you right."
"Shame upon you!" cried the old man fiercely. "Defending such a
scoundrel as that!"
"No, no, uncle, I do not defend this man. Listen to me; you do not know
what you are doing."
"Not know what I am doing? Ah!"
He turned from her in disgust, and with a look of agony that thrilled
him, she caught Leslie's arm.
"You will listen to me, Mr Leslie. You must not, you shall not, call
in the police."
He did not speak for the moment, but stood hesitating as if yielding to
her prayer; but the frown deepened upon his brow as he loosened her
grasp upon his arm.
"It is for your good," he said coldly, "to save you from a man like
that."
"I must speak, I must speak!" cried Louise, and then she uttered a wail
of horror and shrank to her uncle's side.
For as she clung to Leslie, Pradelle, with a bullying look, planted
himself before the door to arrest Leslie's progress, and then shrank
back as he saw the grim smile of satisfaction upon the young Scot's
face.
It was the work of moments, and the action seemed like to that of one of
his own country deerhounds, as Leslie clashed at him; there was the dull
sound of a heavy blow, and Pradelle went down with a crash in one corner
of the room.
"Mr Leslie! Mr Leslie! for pity's sake stay!" cried Louise as she
made for the door; but Uncle Luke caught her hand, and retained it as
the door swung to.
"Uncle, uncle!" she moaned, "what have you done?"
"Done?" he cried. "You mad, infatuated girl! My duty to my brother and
to you."
"All right," said Pradelle, rising slowly. "Let's have in the police
then. I can clear myself, I dare say."
"Mr Pradelle, if you have a spark of manliness in you, pray say no
more," cried Louise, as, snatching herself free, she ran to him now.
"Oh, I'm not going to be made a scapegoat!" he cried savagely; but as
his eyes met hers full of piteous appeal, his whole manner changed, and
he caught her hands in his.
"Yes, I will," he whispered. "I'll bear it all. It can't be for long,
and I may get off. Promise me--"
He said the rest of the words with his lips close to her ear.
"Your wife?" she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle.
"No, no, no!"
There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant
Parkins stepped in.
"Mr Pradelle, eh?" he said with a grim smile. "Glad to make your
acquaintance, sir, at last. You'll come quietly?"
"Oh, yes, I'll come," said Pradelle. "I've got an answer to the
charge."
"Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your
pleasant little game. Shall I?"
"There's no need," said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation
toward his wrists. "I know how to behave like a gentleman."
"That's right," said the sergeant, who, with a display of delicacy
hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had
his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at
the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on
her face.
"It ain't too late yet, Miss Louie," said Pradelle, crossing towards
her.
"Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins," cried Uncle Luke.
"Right, sir. Now, Mr Pradelle."
"Stop a moment, can't you?" shouted the prisoner. "Miss Louie--to save
him you'll promise, and I'll be dumb. I swear I will."
Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast.
"No," she said firmly, "I cannot promise that. Uncle dear, I have tried
to save him to the last. I can do no more."
"No," said the old man, "you can do no more."
"Mr Pradelle," she cried, "you will not be so base?"
"Will you promise?" he cried.
"No."
"Then--here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a
word?"
"No," roared Uncle Luke. "Take him away."
"Then the sergeant here will," cried Pradelle savagely. "Look here, sit
down and wait for a few minutes, and you can take Harry Vine as well."
"What do you mean?" cried the sergeant roughly.
"Only that he has gone out to raise the money for a bolt to France, and
he'll be back directly. Two birds with one stone."
"Only a trick, sir," said the sergeant grimly. "Now, Mr Pradelle,
hansom or four-wheeler? I give you your choice."
"Four-wheeler," said Pradelle, with a sneering laugh.
"My poor brother!" moaned Louise, as she made a clutch at the air, and
then sank fainting in her uncle's arms.
"You scoundrel! to speak like that," cried Uncle Luke fiercely.
"Here, what do you mean?" said the sergeant.
"What I said. He wasn't drowned. Harry was too clever for that."
_Click--click_!
A pair of handcuffs were fastened to his wrists with marvellous
celerity, and he was swung into a chair.
"I don't know whether this is a bit of gammon, Mr Pradelle," said the
sergeant sharply, "but I never lose a chance."
He paid not the slightest heed to the other occupants of the room, but
ran to the window, threw it open, and called to some one below, but only
his last words were heard by those inside.
"Quick! first one you see, and I'll give you a shilling."
The sergeant closed the window, and crossed to Pradelle.
"If it's a trick it will do you no good. You see, to begin with, it has
brought you those."
"I don't care," said Pradelle, glowering at Uncle Luke. "It will take
some of the pride out of him, and I shan't go alone."
"It is a trick, sergeant. Take the scoundrel away."
"Must make sure, sir. Sorry for the lady, but she may have been
deceived that horrible night, and there's more in this than I can
understand. Your friend be long, sir?"
"Mr Leslie? I expected him back with you."
"Mr Leslie went on out into the street, sir. Here, I have it. He has
been in hiding down your way, and came up with the lady there."
"That's it, sergeant, you're a 'cute one," said Pradelle with a laugh.
"Who has been in hiding?"
"Your nephew, sir. I see it all now. What a fool I've been."
"My nephew!--Not dead?"
"Harry--brother!" moaned Louise. "I could do no more. Ah!"
Uncle Luke fell a-trembling as he caught the half-insensible girl's
hand, gazing wildly at the sergeant the while.
"Look here, Pradelle, no more nonsense. Will he come back?"
"If you keep quiet of course. Not if he sees you."
"All!" ejaculated the sergeant, crossing to the door as he heard a step;
and hurrying out he returned directly with a constable in uniform.
"Stop!" he said shortly, and he nodded to the prisoner. "Very sorry,
Mr Vine, sir," he then said; "but you must stay here for a bit. I am
going down to wait outside."
"But, Parkins!" cried Uncle Luke, agitatedly, "I cannot. If this is
true--that poor boy--no, no, he must not be taken now."
"Too late, sir, to talk like that," cried the sergeant. "You stop
there."
"Yes," said Pradelle, as the door closed on the sergeant's retiring
figure; "pleasant for you. I always hated you for a sneering old crab.
It's your time to feel now."
"Silence, you scoundrel!" cried Uncle Luke, fiercely. "She's coming
to."
Uncle Luke was wrong, for Louise only moaned slightly, and then relapsed
into insensibility, from which a doctor who was fetched did not seem to
recall her, and hour after hour of patient watching followed, but Harry
did not return.
"The bird has been scared, sir," said Parkins, entering the room at
last. "I can't ask you to stay longer. There's a cab at the door to
take the lady to your hotel."
"But are you sure--that--my poor boy lives?"
"Certain, sir, now. I've had his description from the people down
below. I shall have him before to-night."
"L'homme propose, mais--"
Five minutes later Louise, quite insensible, was being borne to the
hotel; Mr Pradelle, to an establishment offering similar advantages as
to bed and board, but with the freedom of ingress and egress left out.
Volume 3, Chapter XIX.