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"Tear out a cheque," insisted the other, "it will only cost you a penny, and you will see my meaning in a moment." The animal, before the insistent direction of the other, hesitated, then with a laugh he tore out a cheque. "Now place it on the table." Voles placed it on the table. Jones going to the bureau fetched a pen and ink. He pushed a chair to the table, and made the other sit down.
For several nights he was assiduous in his attentions to the mother vole; and afterwards, his house-keeping duties being suspended, he became a vigilant sentinel, maintaining constant watch over the precious family within his home. When the baby voles were about a week old, a large brown rat, that on several occasions in the previous year had annoyed the youthful Brighteye, returned to the pool.
It was seven o'clock when he reached the door of 10A, Carlton House Terrace. The flunkey who admitted him, having taken his hat, stick and gloves, presented him with a letter that had arrived by the midday post, also with a piece of information. "Mr. Voles called to see you, my Lord, shortly after twelve. He stated that he had an appointment with you. He is to call again at quarter past seven."
"Here, open that door and stop this business." "I told you I was going to make you squeal," said Jones, "but that's nothing to what's coming." Voles came to the table and put down his hat. Then, facing Jones, he rapped with the knuckles of his right hand on the table. "You've done it now," said he, "you've laid yourself open to a nice charge, false imprisonment, that's what you've done.
His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants of the bridge, but toward the wharf. Fowle saw him and yelled. A report and the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle had betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in his aim. Steingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself down by the railings. He was too late.
He knew that their coldness had nothing to do with him, yet he resented it practically just as much as though it had. Then again, the case of Voles. What had made him fight Voles with such vigour?
He heard on every side the quick scamper of feet as, alarmed by his cries, the voles inhabiting the side passages of the burrow scurried hither and thither in wild efforts to remove their young to some imagined place of safety. His mate, like her neighbours, had already taken alarm. At the moment of his arrival she was holding one of her offspring by the neck, in preparation for flight.
The story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your husband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles was an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman who poses as Winifred's aunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?" "Not a syllable." "Then I must appeal to Ronald." "Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am."
But by following the scent of the parent voles that had already stolen into the wood, he reached in safety the banks of the rill. Having quenched his thirst, he scratched the soft soil from beneath a stone and satisfied his hunger with some succulent sprouts of herbage there exposed to sight.
Bullets came close, too. One cut the heel of Carshaw's shoe; another plowed a ridge through his motoring cap. Realizing that Voles would aim only at him, he told Winifred to run wide. She caught his hand. "Please help!" she breathed. "I cannot run far." He smothered a laugh of sheer joy. Winifred's legs were supple as his. She was probably the fleeter of the two.
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