"No, don't go," she said, hastily. "Do be quiet.
I want to think."
Captain Bligh waited in respectful silence, heedless of the fateful
seconds ticking from the mantelpiece. At the sound of a slow, measured
footfall on the cobblestone path outside Miss Pilbeam caught his arm and
drew him towards the door.
"Go!" she breathed. "No, stop!"
She stood trying in vain to make up her mind. "Upstairs," she said.
"Quick!" and, leading the way, entered her father's bedroom, and, after a
moment's thought, opened the door of a cupboard in the corner.
"Get in there," she whispered.
"But--" objected the astonished Bligh.
The front door was heard to open.
"Police!" said Miss Pilbeam, in a thrilling whisper. The skipper stepped
into the cupboard without further parley, and the girl, turning the key,
slipped it into her pocket and sped downstairs.
Sergeant Pilbeam was in the easy-chair, with his belt unfastened, when
she entered the parlor, and, with a hungry reference to supper, sat
watching her as she lit the lamp and drew down the blind. With a
lifelong knowledge of the requirements of the Force, she drew a jug of
beer and placed it by his side while she set the table.
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