“David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. “I hope nothing is wrong. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage.
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