The stout man who had counted so excellently shook himself and spoke.
"There ain't nobody been murdered, ma'am. Everythin's all right. He won't be asleep more'n a coupla minutes."
Aunt Caroline turned upon him in a blaze.
"Who are you? Who are all these men? What have you been doing? How do you come to be in my house?"
She surveyed her library—the wet and rosined floor, the rugs heaped in a corner, the chairs piled against the wall, the tables with men standing on their polished tops. Was it really her house? Yes; it must be. There was no mistaking that portrait of her grandfather, still looking down from its accustomed place on the wall.
She centered her gaze once more upon Signor Valentino, advancing as she did so. The signor backed away, plainly nervous.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "How dare you break into my house?"
The Bearcat had been propped up in a chair, and his seconds were squirting water over him, employing a large sponge for the purpose. He had not yet responded to the reveille. There was an uneasy stir among the crowd. The men were trying to unfasten a window.
Aunt Caroline was still advancing when Mary Wayne pushed Bill Marshall aside and darted into the room.
"Come away! Please!" she cried, seizing Aunt Caroline's arm.