The Argosy — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The White Witch. 95 * Yourself, perhaps?” said Mr. Cattermole. * No, not myself.” “Are you sure he knows all her history ?” returned the other, again speaking with conscious power. “Sir, I £xow he does not. Would he take one whom he may yet see in the criminal dock ?” ‘Would you force her to marry you against her will?” scornfully demanded Godfrey, in his disgust and alarm. “No. Ask Miss Dixon, in presence of her mother, whether she will have this fine young gentleman for a husband, or whether she will escape with the detective who saved her and her mother—mind you say and her mother—at Rome. If she chooses him, I must do my duty. I do not pretend to be generous all round ; or to benefit others without any recompense. Why, see you not, Mr. Godfrey Mayne, that I mzs¢ do it if she stays here?” Godfrey broke out in strong language. He was beside himself. “You deserve to smart for your presumption, and for your treachery,” he continued. ‘‘ The police authorities ought to know of this.” ‘Go and inform them,” said Mr. Cattermole, who became more cold and steely as the young man took fire. ‘Even if you hadn’t the best of reasons yourself for keeping this attempted negotiation private, what do you think any member of the police force, high or low, would say if you told him how a detective had tried to make a rascally arrangement with you for helping a criminal to escape justice? He would listen to your story quite gravely, and then say: ‘Very sorry you were put out, sir; but a detective is obliged to resort to all sorts of dodges.’ And when your back was turned he would laugh at your simplicity.” Godfrey walked to the end of the small room, convulsed with impotent rage; a burning wish to fly at the man’s throat, was only restrained by the feeling that nothing short of strangling would either punish him as he deserved or render him innocuous. In the pause which followed the officer’s cool speech, a step on the flag-stone outside and then in the passage was heard; there was a knock at the door of the room, and without waiting for permission Dick came in. His arm was out of the sling, and was as free as the other. The bandage on his head had fallen on his neck. “May I take these off now?” he asked meekly, without seeing Godfrey, who took the opportunity to turn to the door. “I need not trouble you any longer, Mr. Cattermole,” said he coldly ; and Dick, scared at his enemy’s voice, crouched down, frightened, by Mr. Cattermole’s chair. ‘‘ Good evening to you.” “Good evening, Mr. Godfrey Mayne,” he answered, rising some- what stiffly. And Godfrey noticed for the first time that the hand with which’ Mr. Cattermole grasped the arm of his chair was gloved. “It is he who has the wounds, not Dick,” thought Godfrey, as he left the farm ; “‘ but his head does not appear to have suffered: and [ expect Scotland Yard would say that the invasion of my father’s Gomichboo (E@) m