“And that’s what would have become of us,” said Antoinette Rogers with a shudder, when Nyoda and Gladys had finished their story, “if we had not made a mistake and gotten into the wrong automobile.”

The police were informed of the matter and as soon as Mr. Thurston returned to his place of business he was arrested and charged with the conspiracy to abduct and forcibly detain his two wards.  At first he denied any knowledge of the affair, but the proof was overwhelming.  Nyoda accompanied a delegation of police and witnesses in a motor boat to the foot of the tower and showed them the bent-out bars and the very place where they had jumped into the water, and later they raided the house from the land side.  The deaf mute was nowhere to be found.  She had fled when she discovered that her charges had escaped and was never heard of again.  They ascended in the elevator but were unable to find the contrivance which opened the door into the room, so cunningly was it devised, and had to be content with looking through the grill-work into the lavender room.

The Rogers girls, who were taken away from the guardianship of Mr. Thurston, went to stay with friends in Cincinnati.  Mr. Thurston was left to pay the penalty of his villainy alone, for Mr. Scovill had made good his escape before the plot was disclosed.

Thus Nyoda and Gladys all unknowingly were the cause of a great crime being averted, and were regarded as heroines forevermore by the Winnebagos and their friends.

CHAPTER XVII.

JOY BEFORE US.

Aunt Phoebe and Hinpoha, armed with sharp meat knives, were cutting up suet in the kitchen.  Hinpoha, as usual, under her aunt’s eye, did nothing but make mistakes.  “How awkward you are,” said Aunt Phoebe impatiently.  “You don’t know how to do a thing properly.  I wish that Camp Fire business of yours would teach you something worth while.  Here, let me show you how to cut that suet.”  She took the knife from Hinpoha’s hand and proceeded to demonstrate.  The suet was hard, which was the reason Hinpoha had had no success in cutting it, and the knife in Aunt Phoebe’s hand slipped and plunged into her wrist.  The blood spurted high in the air.  Aunt Phoebe screamed, “I’m bleeding to death!”

Hinpoha did not scream.  She took a handkerchief and calmly made a tourniquet above the gash, twisting it tight with a lead pencil.  Then she telephoned for Dr. Josephy, Aunt Phoebe’s physician.  He was out.  Frantically she tried doctor after doctor, but not a single one was to be had at once.  Dr. Hoffman she knew was at the hospital.  One of the doctors she had telephoned was said to be making a call on the street where she lived, and she ran down there but he had already left.  Running back toward the house, she collided sharply with a man on the street.  It was Dr. Hoffman, who was obligingly coming up to deliver a message from Sahwah.  “Come quickly,” she cried, catching hold of his hand and starting to run, “Aunt Phoebe will bleed to death!”