“Let’s go right over there,” March suggested. “It’s only fair to end Miss Alma’s misery and suspense as soon as possible.”
Still dazed and wondering, I watched the others recall Doctor Greenway and give him back the paper he had produced, and then we went away—back to Keeley’s place, and into a boat and over to Whistling Reeds with all possible speed.
The glum boatmaster greeted us surlily, as usual, but March paid no attention and made straight for the house.
His ring was answered by Merry herself, and she looked very perturbed and anxious.
“I’m glad you’ve come, gentlemen,” she said. “We are in great trouble.”
It was then that I took the helm. As Alma’s fiancé, for I so considered myself, it was my right and my duty to take matters in charge.
“Mrs. Merivale,” I said, simply, “we know all about Miss Alda.”
She staggered back a step and then a look of relief passed over her strong, gaunt face.
“Yes, sir,” she said, apparently accustomed to accept the word of her superiors. “Then you can advise us, sir. Miss Alda is took very bad.”
“Do you want a doctor?” asked March, hurriedly.