"I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me.
Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money--do you hear?"

"Oh, sir!"

"'Oh, sir!'" repeated the tramp, impatiently. "I can't stay here all
day. Are you going to do as I tell you?"

"I suppose I must," said the poor woman.

"That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to
be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to
find that money and bring it down."

"You'll leave the spoons, then?"

"No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are
passed. I don't want to kill you, but--"

Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command
of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from
just outside the window.

"Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian
shall not harm you."

It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and
stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.

"What business is it of yours?" he demanded, in a blustering tone.