Of High Descent Part 69

"Why have you come here, then?" said Uncle Luke, harshly. "Do you think he has not suffered enough?"

The officer made no reply, but stood, notebook in hand, thinking. Then sharply:

"A person named Pradelle has been staying here."

"Yes," said Uncle Luke, with a snap of his teeth; "and if you had taken him instead of hunting down our poor boy you would have done some good."

"All in good time, sir. I expect he was at the bottom of it all. Have you any information you can give me as to where he is likely to have gone?"

"Where do all scoundrels and thieves go to hide? London, I suppose."

"I expected that," said the officer, talking to Uncle Luke, but watching George Vine's drawn, grief-stricken face the while. "I dare say we shall be able to put a finger upon him before long. He does not seem to have a very good record, and yet you gentlemen appear to have given him a welcome here."

George Vine made a deprecating movement with his hands, the detective watching him keenly the while, and evidently hesitating over something he had to say.

"And now, sir," said Uncle Luke, "you'll excuse me if I ask you to go.

This is not a time for cross-examination."

"Eh? perhaps not," said the officer sharply, as he gave the old man a resentful glance. Then to himself, "Well--it's duty. He had no business to. I've no time for fine feelings."

"At another time," continued Uncle Luke, "if you will come to me, I dare say I can give you whatever information you require."

"Oh, you may rest easy about that, sir," said the officer, half laughingly, "don't you be afraid. But I want a few words now with this other gentleman."

"And I say no; you shall not torture him now," cried Uncle Luke angrily.

"He has suffered enough."

"Don't you interfere, sir, till you are called upon," said the officer roughly. "Now, Mr George Vine, if you please."

"I will not have it," cried Uncle Luke; "it is an outrage."

"Let him speak, brother," said George Vine, with calm dignity. "Now, sir, go."

"I will, sir. It's a painful duty, but it is a duty. Now, sir, I came here with a properly signed warrant for the arrest of Henry Vine, for robbery and attempted murder."

"Ah!" sighed Vine, with his brow wrinkling.

"The young man would have resigned himself quietly, but you incited him to resist the law and escape."

"It is quite true. I have sinned, sir," said Vine, in a low pained voice, "and I am ready to answer for what I have done."

"But that is not all," continued the officer. "Not content with aiding my prisoner to escape, you attacked me, sir, and twice over you struck me in the execution of my duty."

"Is this true, George?" cried Uncle Luke, excitedly.

"Yes," said his brother, calmly bending to this new storm: "yes, it is quite true."

"Well, sir, what have you to say?"

"Nothing."

"You know, I suppose, that it is the duty of every citizen to help the officers of the law?"

"Yes."

"And yet you not only fought against me, but struck me heavily. I have the marks."

"Yes; I own to it all."

"And you know that it is a very serious offence?"

"Yes," said the wretched man; and he sank into the nearest chair, looking straight before him into vacancy.

"Well, sir," said the officer sharply, "I'm glad you know the consequences." Then turning sharply on Uncle Luke, who stood biting his lips in an excited manner, "Perhaps you'll come into the next room with me, sir. I should like a few words with you."

Uncle Luke scowled at him, as he led the way into the drawing-room, and shut the door angrily.

"Now, sir," he began fiercely, "let me--"

"Hold hard, old gentleman!" said the officer; "don't be so excitable. I want a few words, and then, for goodness' sake, give me a gla.s.s of wine and a biscuit. I've touched nothing since I came here last night."

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Uncle Luke, furiously; but the man went on--

"Of course it's a serious thing striking an officer; let alone the pain, there's the degradation, for people know of it. I'm sore at losing my prisoner, and if he had not held me I should have had the young fellow safe, and that horrible accident wouldn't have happened."

"And now what are you going to do?" snarled Uncle Luke; "drag him off to gaol?"

"Going to act like a man, sir. Think I'm such a brute? Poor old fellow, I felt quite cut, hard as I am, and I'd have asked him to shake hands over it, only he couldn't have taken it kindly from me. You seem a man of the world, sir. He's one of those dreamy sort of naturalist fellows. Tell him from me I'd have given anything sooner than all this should have happened. It was my duty to see him about his resistance to the law. But, poor old fellow, he was doing his natural duty in defence of his boy, just as I felt that I was doing mine."

Uncle Luke did not speak, but stood holding out his hand. The officer gripped it eagerly, and they two stood gazing in each other's faces for a few moments.

"Thank you," said Uncle Luke gently; and after a time the officer rose to go.

"Yes, sir," he said, at parting, "I shall stay down here till the poor boy is found. Some one in town will be on the look-out for our friend Pradelle, for, unless I'm very much mistaken, he's the monkey who handled the cat's paws. Good morning."

Uncle Luke stood at the door watching the officer till he was out of sight, and then returned to the old dining-room, to find his brother still gazing into vacancy, just as he had been left.

"News, Luke?" he said, as he looked eagerly. "No, you need not speak.

Perhaps it is better so. Better death than this terrible dishonour."

Volume 2, Chapter XV.

GEORGE VINE ASKS FOR HELP.

"She shall go. I always knew she was a thief," said Aunt Marguerite, as she stood by her open window, listening to a whispered communication going on. "Wait till Louise can act like a woman, and see to her housekeeping again, and that girl shall go."

She listened again, and could hear a rough woman's voice urging something, while the more familiar voice of Liza was raised again and again in a whispered protest.

Then followed more talking, and at last there was a pause, followed by a hasty whisper, and the heavy step of old Poll Perrow, with her basket on her back, supported by the strap across her brow. Aunt Marguerite had been to her niece's door again and again, and tried it to find it fastened; and she could get no response to her taps and calls. She seemed to feel no sorrow, only rage against all by whom she was surrounded; and, isolated as it were, she spent the afternoon going to and fro between her own room and one which gave her a good view of the harbour mouth with boats going and returning; for the search for the body of Harry Vine was kept up without cessation, the fishermen lending themselves willingly to the task, and submitting, but with an ill grace, to the presence of the police.