“Is Miss Raynor in there?” she flung out so quickly that Mrs. Kent gasped. But she recovered her poise at once and said, “I don’t know what you mean,—I don’t know any Miss Raynor.”
“Oh, tut, tut!” and Zizi grinned at her; “don’t tell naughty stories! Why, I hear Miss Raynor’s voice!”
She didn’t at all, but as she listened, with her head cocked on one side, like a saucy bird, Mrs. Kent’s face showed fear, and she listened also.
A muffled scream was heard,—not loud, but clearly a cry for help.
Without further parley, Rivers made a dash for the door and though it was locked, he smashed into the rather flimsy panel and the old hinges gave way.
There, in the adjoining room was Olive Raynor, a handkerchief tied across her mouth and her angry eyes flashing with rage.
Holding her arm was George Rodman, who was evidently trying to intimidate her, but without complete success.
Zizi flew to Olive’s side, and snatched off the handkerchief.
Rodman was perfectly cool. “Let that lady alone,” he said; “she is my affianced wife.”
“Affianced grandmother!” retorted Zizi. “You can’t put that over, Mr. Rodman!”