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Page 23
The next instant from the outside the door was softly closed
upon them.
It had no more than shut when to the surprise of Miss Forbes
the young man, with a delighted and vindictive chuckle, sprang
to the desk and began to drum upon it with his fingers. It
were as though he were practising upon a typewriter.
"He missed THESE," he muttered jubilantly. The girl leaned
forward. Beneath his fingers she saw, flush with the table, a
roll of little ivory buttons. She read the words "Stables,"
"Servants' hall." She raised a pair of very beautiful and
very bewildered eyes.
"But if he wanted the servants, why didn't the watchman do
that?" she asked.
"Because he isn't a watchman," answered the young man.
"Because he's robbing this house."
He took the revolver from his encumbering greatcoat, slipped
it in his pocket, and threw the coat from him. He motioned
the girl into a corner. "Keep out of the line of the door,"
he ordered.
"I don't understand," begged the girl.
"They came in a car," whispered the young man. "It's broken
down, and they can't get away. When the big fellow stopped us
and I flashed my torch, I saw their car behind him in the road
with the front off and the lights out. He'd seen the lamps of
our car, and now they want it to escape in.
That's why he brought us here--to keep us away from our car."
"And Fred!" gasped the girl. "Fred's hurt!"
"I guess Fred stumbled into the big fellow," assented the young
man, "and the big fellow put him out; then he saw Fred was a
chauffeur, and now they are trying to bring him to, so that he
can run the car for them. You needn't worry about Fred. He's
been in four smash-ups."
The young man bent forward to listen, but from no part of the
great house came any sign. He exclaimed angrily.
"They must be drugged," he growled. He ran to the desk and
made vicious jabs at the ivory buttons.
"Suppose they're out of order!" he whispered.
There was the sound of leaping feet. The young man laughed
nervously.
"No, it's all right," he cried. "They're coming!"
The door flung open and the big burglar and a small, rat-like
figure of a man burst upon them; the big one pointing a
revolver.
"Come with me to your car!" he commanded. "You've got to take
us to Boston. Quick, or I'll blow your face off."
Although the young man glared bravely at the steel barrel and
the lifted trigger, poised a few inches from his eyes, his
body, as though weak with fright, shifted slightly and his
feet made a shuffling noise upon the floor. When the weight
of his body was balanced on the ball of his right foot, the
shuffling ceased. Had the burglar lowered his eyes, the
manoeuvre to him would have been significant, but his eyes
were following the barrel of the revolver.
In the mind of the young man the one thought uppermost was
that he must gain time, but, with a revolver in his face, he
found his desire to gain time swiftly diminishing. Still,
when he spoke, it was with deliberation.
"My chauffeur--" he began slowly.
The burglar snapped at him like a dog. "To hell with your
chauffeur!" he cried. "Your chauffeur has run away. You'll
drive that car yourself, or I'll leave you here with the top
of your head off."
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