Henshaw is waiting just
there in Turner's Lane."
"Is he?" The same defiant note; but there was anxiety behind the
cold pretence.
"Yes. And pardon me, I have an idea he is waiting there for you."
His firm tone and manner baffled equivocation. "What is it to you if he
is?" she returned with a brave attempt to suggest cold displeasure. But
her lip trembled and her voice was scarcely steady.
"It is something to me," he replied insistently, "because it means a
great deal to you. This man is persecuting you. He is--"
"Mr. Gifford!" she exclaimed. "You take--"
He held up his hand. "Please let me finish, Miss Morriston. I can
convince you that I am not taking too much upon myself. I am no fool and
am not interfering without warrant. This man Henshaw has succeeded in
persuading you that you are in his power. That is very far from being the
case, and I can prove it."
"I don't understand you, Mr. Gifford."
The tone of cold annoyance was gone now. Relief and a vague hope seemed
to be struggling with an almost overwhelming anxiety.
"You will understand directly," he replied. "I have more than a suspicion
that this man is seeking to connect you with his brother's death and is
making use of a certain half-knowledge he possesses to get a hold over
you.
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