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Say rather that the fear that a call for help would consign him to a just retribution for his crimes was the chief cause of her silence. A dread that she might be compelled to do so was lessened by his next speech. "You've no call to look so scared, Polly Daverill. You do what I tell you, and be sharp about it. What are you good for? that's the question! Got any money in the house?"
And his hearer's crippled mouth half succeeds in its struggle for an emphatic assent. He continues: "In course you are. I'm Sub-Inspector Cardwell, N Division. There's a man concealed in your house I'm after. He's wanted.... Who is he?" a right guess of an unintelligible question "You mean what name does he go by? Well his name's Daverill, but he's called Thornton or Wix as may be.
In reply, he scorned circumlocution, saying briefly: "Wot'll it come to? Wot are you good for? That's the p'int." "You tell me no lies and you'll see. There's an old widow-lady down this Court. Don't you go and say there ain't!" "There's any number. Which old widder?" "Name of Daverill. Old enough to be your father's granny." "No sich a name!
Wix, care of Miss Julia Hawkins, at The Pigeons? That was all the direction on the envelope, originally covered by another, addressed to Micky's great-aunt. It was worded as Daverill had worded it in a hurried parting word to Aunt M'riar, given when Gwen's knock had cut his visit short. This letter, in an uneducated woman's hand, excited Miss Hawkins's curiosity.
Only the Earl and his daughter had come off their P's and Q's, most lawlessly. Here is the letter each had read, when off them: "My dear Lord Ancester, "I have thoroughly considered the letter, and return it herewith. I am satisfied that it is a forgery by the hand of the convict Daverill, but it is difficult to see what his object can have been, malice apart.
"The name was Daverill. He's mixed it up with the old lady in the country he calls his granny." She was the more certain this was so owing to a recent controversy with Dave about this name, ending in his surrender of the pronunciation "Marrowbone" as untenable, but introducing a new element of confusion owing to Marylebone Church, a familiar landmark.
Probably a letter was lost containing the information. When Isaac Runciman died Phoebe wrote the news of his death to Maisie and received no reply from her. In its stead that is to say, at about the time it would have been due came a letter from Thornton Daverill announcing her sister's death in Australia. It was a brief, unsatisfying letter.
It made streaks. It had its effect on Daverill, soothing his complaisant mood, making him even more cunning than before. "I'll get it out of her, Juliar," said he, "and you shall have it to tear up, to your heart's content. It don't make one farthing's worth of difference, that I see. But have it your own choice. A woman's a woman!" There seems no place in this for Mr.
It was only perfectly palpable that he meant it to be so, and he who parades his indifference is apt to overreach himself. Aunt M'riar had been making up her mind that she must tell Mo what she knew about this man Daverill, at whatever cost to herself. It would have been much easier had she known much less.
Then an awakening to daylight, and all the memories of yestereven crowding in upon her among them an address and a name in the pocket of the gown by the bedside. She could reach it easily. There it was. She lay back in bed uncrumpling it, expecting nothing.... This was the fag-end of a dream, surely! But no there the words were, staring her in the face: "Ralph Thornton Daverill!"
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