Hastily he scrambled down from the top of the wall and ran across the yard. The open coal chute yawned at his feet. He stooped and listened. There was no sound. He called into the depths. There was no answer.
"The son of a gun!" he muttered in an awed whisper.
He was still standing there, dully contemplating the hole in the earth, when a flicker of light caused him to lift his head. She was in the kitchen. He heard the lifting of the bar and the turning of the key in the lock, followed by a rattle of bolts. As he approached the door it opened.
Mary Wayne looked as weird as the witch of Endor. Her white robes were streaked with black. Her face was smeared with coal dust; her hands, her hair. Out of a sooty countenance gleamed two dangerous gray eyes.
"You coward!" she said. "See what you've done!"
"But if you'd waited——"
"You've just made me ruin the loveliest things I ever wore in all my life. Look at this peignoir. It's ripped, it's torn, it's—— Oh, don't stand there! I'll slam the door in a second, and then you can stay out or else come in by way of the coal bin."
Pete entered meekly and closed the door behind him. Single file they mounted the back stairs that led to the servants' quarters.