“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
adjusted his glasses. “Poor child! Poor little thing! Can't I do something? Can’t I be of some assistance?”
He moved around ambiguously, totally helpless, entirely ineffectual.
The girl on the bunk opened her eyes and fixed them imploringly upon the baronet.
“You won’t—you won’t—put Jim in prison?” she pleaded in a weak voice.
“Er—are you speaking to me?” inquired Trevelyan, in an embarrassed manner. “Who is this young person, may I ask?”
“It ’s Mrs. Chilvers,” said Micky turning to the representative of the Royal Bank of Edinburgh. “The wife of the man who took that money from your London Branch—that is, he did n’t take it, but he was willing to assume the blame for it.”
Trevelyan and his wife both turned to Micky in astonishment.
“What do you know about it, may I ask?” snapped the baronet, his manner changing abruptly. “That is what she says, I assume.”
“It ’s God's own truth!” cried the Chilvers girl. “Every word of it! Father took the264
