“Where’s father?” he growled, stopping where he was a foot or so from the door.

I shook my head with a slight gesture and remained looking out.

He brought his cane down on the floor with a thump.  “What do you mean by sitting there staring out of the window like mad and not answering when I ask you a decent question?”

Still I made no reply.

Provoked beyond endurance, yet held in check by that vague sense of danger in the air,—­which while not amounting to apprehension is often sufficient to hold back from advance the most daring foot,—­he stood glaring at me in what I felt to be a very ferocious attitude, but made no offer to move.  Instantly I rose and still looking out of the window, made with my hand what appeared to be a signal to some one on the opposite side of the way.  The ruse was effective.  With an oath that rings in my ears yet, he lifted his heavy cane and advanced upon me with a bound, only to meet the same fate as his father at the hands of the watchful detectives.  Not, however, before that heavy cane came down upon my head in a way to lay me in a heap at his feet and to sow the seeds of that blinding head-ache, which has afflicted me by spells ever since.  But this termination of the affair was no more than I had feared from the beginning; and indeed it was as much to protect Mrs. Blake from the wrath of these men, as from any requirements of the situation I had assumed the disguise I then wore.  I therefore did not allow this mishap to greatly trouble me, unpleasant as it was at the time, but, as soon as ever I could do so, rose from the floor and throwing off my strange habiliments, proceeded to finish up to my satisfaction, the work already so successfully begun.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOVE AND DUTY

Dismissing the men who had assisted us in the capture of these two hardy villains, we ranged our prisoners before us.

“Now,” said Mr. Gryce, “no fuss and no swearing; you are in for it, and you might as well take it quietly as any other way.”

“Give me a clutch on that girl, that’s all,” said her father, “Where is she?  Let me see her; every father has a right to see his own daughter,”

“You shall see her,” returned my superior, “but not till her husband is here to protect her.”

“Her husband? ah, you know about that do you?” growled the heavy voice of the son.  “A rich man they say he is and a proud one.  Let him come and look at us lying here like dogs and say how he will enjoy having his wife’s father and brother grinding away their lives in prison.”

“Mr. Blake is coming,” quoth Mr. Gryce, who by some preconcerted signal from the window had drawn that gentleman across the street.  “He will tell you himself that he considers prison the best place for you.  Blast you! but he—­”

“But he, what?” inquired I, as the door opened and Mr. Blake with a pale face and agitated mien entered the room.