"It may," said Geoffrey, and continued to read.

Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar
kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such
brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by
any chance the story were true,--if there was a woman at his doors
freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other
hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than his
informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It was
so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more likely for
instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for criminals and
tramps, that by going he would be walking into the veriest trap? Yet
again there was the report confirmed by Harris's story that a woman was
in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round the
house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of
actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay.
Had it not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He
found his eyes had read the same page three times, while his brain was
busy devising means by which McVay could be secured in his absence--if
he went.

At length he rose suddenly to his feet.

"I'll go," he said, "but before I go, I'll tie you up so safely that, if
I don't come back, you'll starve to death before you'll be able to get
out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to
go?"

"Oh, yes, I want you to go," said McVay, "only for goodness sake be
careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep