If they do not hold soap and water in absolute fear, as Dick Harvey
said, they at least look upon them as vanities and effeminacies
unworthy of desperadoes.

* * * * *

"So, so," muttered Hunston, as he walked away, "I shall secure them
yet. For through the boys I can get at the father and at Harvey. Hah!"

At this precise moment a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder.

There was a professional touch in it, which once felt could never be
forgotten.

Hunston had felt such a clutch once in England, and the recollection
was likely to last him as long as he lived.

He forgot where he was, every thing, and instinctively he faltered this
inquiry--

"On what charge?"

"Murder!"

He knew the voice.

He had no need to look round; the voice was not one easily forgotten.

It was our old friend Pike, the English detective.