Part 120 (1/2)
The maid left the room, and Louise stood, with her head resting on the old man's breast.
”Now tell me, uncle dear,” she said in a low voice, and without looking up, ”has poor Harry been taken?”
”No.”
”Hah!”
A long sigh of relief.
”And Mr Leslie? What does he say?”
”I don't know. He has not been here since he left with me yesterday.”
”And he calls himself our friend!” cried Louise, looking up with flus.h.i.+ng face. ”Uncle, why does he not try and save Harry instead of joining the cowardly pack who are hunting him down?”
”Come, I like that!” cried Uncle Luke. ”I'd rather see you in a pa.s.sion than down as you were last night.”
”I--I cannot help it, uncle; I can think of only one thing--Harry.”
”And Mr Leslie, and accuse him of hunting Harry down.”
”Well, did he not do so? Did he not come with that dreadful man?”
”To try and save you from the French scoundrel with whom he thought you had eloped.”
”Oh, hush, uncle, dear. Now tell me, what do you propose doing?”
”Nothing.”
”Uncle!”
”That's the best policy. There, my darling, I have done all I could this morning to help the poor boy, but--I must be plain--the police are in hot pursuit, and if I move a step I am certain to be watched. Look there!”
He pointed down into the street.
”That man on the other side is watching this house, I'm sure, and if I go away I shall be followed.”
”But while we are doing nothing, who knows what may happen, dear?”
”Don't let's imagine things. Harry is clever enough perhaps to get away, and now he knows that we have found out the truth, you will see that he is not long before he writes. I want Leslie now. Depend upon it, the poor fellow felt that he would be _de trop_, and has gone straight back home.”
Louise uttered a sigh full of relief.
”You scared him away, my dear, and perhaps it's for the best. He's a very stupid fellow, and as obstinate--well, as a Scot.”
”But knowing Harry as he does, uncle, and being so much younger than you are, would it not be better if he were working with you? We must try and save poor Harry from that dreadful fate.”
”Oh, I don't know,” said Uncle Luke slowly. ”There, have some tea.”
Then rising from his seat, he rang, and going to the writing-table sat down; and while Louise made a miserable pretence of sipping her tea, the old man wrote down something and gave it to the waiter who entered.