And, of course, just then Dallas had to open the door
and step into the room. He was covered with dirt
and he had a hatchet in his hand.
“A rope!” he demanded, without paying
any attention to us and diving into corners of the
room. “Good heavens, isn’t there a
rope in this confounded house!”
He turned and rushed out, without any explanation,
and left us staring at the door.
“Bother the rope!” I found myself forced
to look into two earnest eyes. “Kit, were
you very angry when I kissed you that night on
the roof?”
“Very,” I maintained stoutly.
“Then prepare yourself for another attack of
rage!” he said. And Betty opened the door.
She had on a fetching pale blue dressing gown, and
one braid of her yellow hair was pulled carelessly
over her shoulder. When she saw me on my knees
beside the bed (oh, yes, I forgot to say that, quite
unconsciously, I had slid into that position) she stopped
short, just inside the door, and put her hand to her
throat. She stood for quite a perceptible time
looking at us, and I tried to rise. But Tom shamelessly
put his arm around my shoulders and held me beside
him. Then Betty took a step back and steadied
herself by the door frame. She had really cared,
I knew then, but I was too excited to be sorry for
her.
“I—I beg your pardon for coming in,”
she said nervously. “But—they
want you downstairs, Kit. At least, I thought
you would want to go, but—perhaps—”
Just then from the lower part of the house came a
pandemonium of noises; women screaming, men shouting,
and the sound of hatchet strokes and splintering wood.
I seized Betty by the arm, and together we rushed
down the stairs.
The second floor was empty. A table lay overturned
at the top of the stairs, and a broken flower vase
was weltering in its own ooze. Part way down
Betty stepped on something sharp, that proved to be
the Japanese paper knife from the den. I left
her on the stairs examining her foot and hurried to
the lower floor.
Here everything was in the utmost confusion.
Aunt Selina had fainted, and was sitting in a hall
chair with her head rolled over sidewise and the poker
from the library fireplace across her knees.
No one was paying any attention to her. And Jim
was holding the front door open, while three of the
guards hesitated in the vestibule. The noises
continued from the back of the house, and as I stood
on the lowest stair Bella came out from the dining
room, with her face streaked with soot, and carrying
a kettle of hot water.
“Jim,” she called wildly. “While
Max and Dal are below, you can pour this down from
the top. It’s boiling.”
Jim glanced back over his shoulder. “Carry
out your own murderous designs,” he said.
And then, as she started back with it, “Bella,
for Heaven’s sake,” he called, “have
you gone stark mad? Put that kettle down.”
