“Get down to the engine-room, you there,” the millionaire continued. “Drop your barker first; that’s better. Now slope, an’ let’s have no tricks, or you’ll get hurt.”
Like a beaten hound, the fellow slunk below, never attempting to possess himself of the dead footman’s revolver, which lay beside the corpse.
The American was master of the situation.
* * * * * *
As the sound of the plotters’ footsteps died away, Oswyn flung open the window of the dining-room and rushed in.
One moment he fumbled for the switch, the next, a dazzling flood of light poured into the room.
Before the three bound men had recovered from their surprise at his unexpected appearance, Oswyn had cut their bonds and removed the gags.
“Where have you sprung from, Frank?” cried the inventor, stamping about the room in his efforts to restore the circulation to his numbed limbs.
Briefly the doctor told him of his fortunate meeting with Haverly at Carnmoor, and the succeeding events.
As he finished speaking, Seymour left the room, returning in a moment with a brace of revolvers.