“For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. I get the worst headaches. I was the last on board. I could tell it was Italian, you see. "Hey, you!" Ah Cum stopped and turned. Melusine—the real Melusine—evidently did not see him immediately, for her attention was on her descent from the high vehicle. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other.
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