But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. God help me. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. A moment afterwards, the street was illumined by a blaze of torchlight, and a tumultuous uproar, mixed with the clashing of weapons, and the braying of horns, announced the arrival of the first detachment of Minters. No lights were flashing, and a single squad car was not a cause for alert, as sometimes the Becks allowed squads to use their drive to watch for speeders and other reckless drivers. ’ ‘Why must you?’ asked Gerald calmly.
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