“Here! Come back here! Helen! Helen! I want my niece! Oh, Helen, come to auntie!”
Then Barnes and the other pretty ward of the distraught Mrs. Burton entered the room. The young man had stopped Sadie in the hallway to ask a few questions and endeavored to soothe the frightened girl. He had taken possession of her hand again and still held it as he led her to the door of the drawing room.
They did not attempt to enter until after the precipitate disappearance of Michael Phelan. As Mrs. Burton stood looking helplessly at the closed door, 153 her ample bosom heaving and her breath coming in short hysterical gasps, Barnes was whispering to Sadie:
“Ah, Miss Sadie, I can’t tell you how overjoyed I am at seeing you again. And so that’s your auntie––fancy that chap refusing to meet her! Why”–––
That was as far as he got. Auntie suddenly wheeled round and caught sight of him.
“Ah! Gladwin!” she screamed and made a rush for him.
With all his characteristic aplomb and insouciance Whitney Barnes was unable to face such a rush with any degree of calmness.
“No! no! a mistake!” he retorted and sought to sidestep.
Mrs. Burton was too quick for him and seized his arm in an iron grip.
“Where is Helen? What have you done with her?” she demanded in the same wild tones.