“Wolfenden!”
The two men started round. The Countess was standing in the doorway. She was pale as death, and her eyes were full of fear.
“Who was that man?” she cried. “What has happened?”
“He was an impostor, I am afraid,” Wolfenden answered. “The letter from Dr. Whitlett was forged. He has bolted.”
She looked towards the doctor.
“Thank God that you are here!” she cried. “I am frightened! There are some papers and models missing, and the admiral has found it out! I am afraid he is going to have a fit. Please come into the library. He must not be left alone!”
They both followed her down the passage and through the half-opened door. In the centre of the room Lord Deringham was standing, his pale cheeks scarlet with passion, his fists convulsively clenched. He turned sharply round to face them, and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Nothing shall make me believe that this room has not been entered, and my papers tampered with!” he stormed out. “Where is that reptile Blatherwick? I left my morning’s work and two models on the desk there, less than half an hour ago; both the models are gone and one of the sheets! Either Blatherwick has stolen them, or the room has been entered during my absence! Where is that hound?”
“He is in his room,” Lady Deringham answered. “He ran past me on the stairs trembling all over, and he has locked himself in and piled up the furniture against the door. You have frightened him to death!”