She was carrying a
bulging cane grip secured by a brown leather strap.
Seeing Harley on the step, she paused for a moment, then,
recovering herself:
"Ellen!" she shouted down the dim passageway revealed by the
opening of the door. "Somebody to see you."
Leaving the door open, she hurried past the visitor with averted
face. It was well done, and, thus disguised by the thick veil,
another man than Paul Harley might have failed to recognize one
of whom he had never had more than an imperfect glimpse. But if
Paul Harley's memory did not avail him greatly, his unerring
instinct never failed.
He grasped the girl's arm. "One moment, Miss Jones," he said,
quietly, "it is you I am here to see!"
The girl turned angrily, snatching her arm from his grasp.
"You've made a mistake, haven't you?" she cried, furiously. "I
don't know you and I don't want to!"
"Be good enough to step inside again. Don't make a scene. If you
behave yourself, you have nothing to fear. But I want to talk to
you."
He extended his arm to detain her. But she thrust it aside. "My
boy's waiting round the corner!" she said, viciously. "Just see
what he'll do when I tell him!"
"Step inside," repeated Harley, quietly. "Or accompany me to
Kennington Lane Police Station--whichever you think would be the
more amusing."
"What d'you mean!" blustered the girl. "You can't kid me. I
haven't done anything.
Pages:
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124