"I can't do that," said the girl, "because he--the man who did it--was
kind to us--kind to Granny and me. If I tell the police, they will go
after him, and perhaps find him, and--and hang him. Oh, no," and she
shook her head again with decision, "I could not do that."

Max was silent for a few moments, looking at her for the first few
seconds with pity and then with suspicion.

"Why do you tell all this to me, then--a stranger--if you're so afraid
of the police finding out anything about it?"

The girl did not answer for a moment. She seemed puzzled to answer the
question. At last she said:

"I didn't mean to. When I saw you first, at the wharf, at the back
there, I just looked at you and hid myself again. And then I thought to
myself that as you were a gentleman perhaps I might dare to ask you what
I did."

Max, not unnaturally, grew more doubtful still. This apparently deserted
building, which he was asked to enter by the back way, might be a
thievish den of the worst possible character, and this girl, innocent as
she certainly looked, might be a thieves' decoy. Something in his face
or in his manner must have betrayed his thoughts to the shrewd Londoner;
for she suddenly drew back, uttering a little cry of horror. Without
another word she turned and slunk back along the passage and into the
street.

Now, if Max had been a little older, or a little more prudent, if he had
indeed been anything but a reckless young rascal with a taste for