Chapter X
SURPRISES
Dorothy’s experiences, since she had shopped for neckties for her father that morning had been quite enough to lay up the average girl for a week, and to wreck her nerves into the bargain. Laura Lawson’s appearance in her bedroom had strained tightened nerves to the breaking point.
The arrival of this second intruder was just too much. As the butler stepped out of the closet and started to close the door, Dorothy’s self-control snapped like a rubber band. She forgot that she was playing a part; that it might be suicidal to show her hand so early in the game. Fear gripped her throat. Had this man been sent to kill her? If not, then what was he doing, stealing into her room through a secret entrance like an assassin of the middle ages? Self-preservation bade her act. The consequences could take care of themselves.
“Stop!” The harsh whisper, as her hand dove for Flash, sounded like the voice of a stranger. “Move another step, and I’ll pin you to that door!” Flash was in her raised hand now, the extended blade reflecting the light in the closet as though the polished steel were glass.
She saw the man start in surprise and turn his head in her direction. As she was about to hurl the knife, Tunbridge found his voice.
“Ashton Sanborn sent me, Miss Dixon. Please don’t throw that knife.”
Gone was the English accent, and the pompous intonation of the British man servant. Tunbridge, if that were really his name, spoke the American Dorothy was accustomed to hear, the accents of the cultured New Englander. For the second time in her life, Dorothy fainted.
She awoke to find herself in bed. Tunbridge was beside it. She could just make out his tall, powerful figure in the darkness.
“Goodness—did I faint?” she said weakly.
“You certainly did, Miss Dixon.” His tone was little above a whisper. “Please don’t raise your voice—and drink this. I found the aromatic spirits of ammonia in the bathroom. You need something to steady you. No one is cast iron—you’ve been through a frightful lot today.”