For answer the doctor drew a small case of instruments from his pocket, and selecting one he prepared to cut away around the lock. There was a subdued movement inside. Agnes clasped her hands. “Oh, hurry, hurry,” she cried. “Let me help.” And by degrees weaker and weaker became the barrier, and finally the door was forced open. In the dim light of the room was seen upon the floor a man’s form. He was tied hand and foot.
“It is Mr. Willet! It is Parker!” cried Agnes, rushing forward.
“Open that other door and get some water,” ordered the doctor, as he felt the cold face of his friend. Agnes obeyed. The children came flocking in. Mrs. Muirhead stood anxiously upon the threshold, not daring to go farther.
Presently the doctor lifted Parker to his feet, but at the same moment a voice thundered, “Touch that man and I’ll shoot him dead!” And turning, they saw in the doorway Humphrey Muirhead’s dark countenance distorted with rage. The man was levelling a pistol at his prisoner.
As Agnes caught sight of the vindictive look, it seemed as if she might be sure that Humphrey’s revenge would stop at nothing short of murder, and, catching up little Honey, she interposed his form between that of Parker Willett and the enraged man in the doorway. “Fire, if you dare!” she cried. And the pistol dropped to Humphrey Muirhead’s side.
At the same moment Dr. Flint exclaimed, “Good heavens, man! would you commit murder to accomplish your ends?”
Humphrey Muirhead wheeled around upon him. “You’re here, are you? You talk of murder? What are you? If you had your deserts, where would you be? There is fine set of you, your righteous partners who begged you off, and yourself; all of you deserve to swing for cheating justice.”
The doctor turned as white as a sheet, and then with a cry of rage sprang forward, but a firm hand held him back. “Now look here, Hump Muirhead,” said the voice of Dod Hunter, “you’re too free with your talk. I’d like to know what you’ve got against Dr. Flint and Park Willett. Nothing at all, except that they are better men than you are. You great, overgrown, hulking coward—No, I’m not afeard o’ ye; if I had been, I’d not lived your neighbor all these years. I reckon ye won’t pick crows with me. I know ye too well. Now, Nancy, you say your say; there’s nothing dreadful goin’ to happen.” And drawing up a chair before the open door, Dod Hunter seated himself, with his rifle across his knees.
Parker Willett had been looking from one to the other in a dazed way as though he only half understood what was going on.
“He’s been drugged,” declared the doctor. “He will be all right after a while, Miss Agnes. Let him lie there on the bed.” Agnes still stood with the child clinging to her neck, her mother’s half-brother glowering at her.