She did so, and started all over again. This time he was able to understand her.
"Wait! Tell me the rest later on," he interrupted. "Come along! This looks pretty ugly to me. By gad, I—I believe he was planning to abduct you or something as—"
"I must have a policeman," she protested, holding back. "I was looking for one when you came up."
"Nonsense! We don't need a bobby. I can take care of—"
"But that man will make off with my bags."
"We'll see," he cried, and she was swept along up the street, running to keep pace with his prodigious strides. He had linked his arm through hers.
They found her effects scattered along the edge of the sidewalk. Trotter laughed, but it was not a good-humoured laugh.
"Skipped!" he grated. "I might have known it. Now, let me think. What is the next, the best thing to do? Go up there and ring that doorbell and—"
"No! You are not to do that. Sit down here beside me. My—my knees are frightfully shaky. So silly of them. But I—I—really it was quite a shock I had, Mr. Trotter."
"Better call me Tom,—for the present at least," he suggested, sitting down beside her on the trunk.
"What a strange coincidence," she murmured. There was not much room on the trunk for two. He sat quite on one end of it.
"You mean,—sitting there?" he inquired, blankly.
"No. Your turning up as you did,—out of a clear sky."
