Bradish answered John’s question. “I let her out not ten minutes ago, sir.”
“Did you see her speak to these men?”
“She did not pass near enough to speak to them, sir. But I think she signaled them with a gesture. I cannot be sure.”
One of the strangers interrupted. “You can’t deny that Miss Trent is inside.”
“I deny nothing, but I do order you out of my house,” John returned.
“Don’t you owe it to yourself to explain, Mr. Cabot?” asked Morrison. “I’ve worked in this family all my life and am considered a proper woman. The young lady you ask about is seriously ill. Mr. Cabot is here because my father, the butler, telephoned for him.”
“Ill, is she?”—the first strange voice. “Well, we’re specialists sent to investigate her symptoms. Here, matey, help me ease this gent away from the door. No need for strenuous argument when we’re two to his one.”
“Look out—a gun!”—the second.
“And a gun,” John added quietly, “trained to put burglars out of my house.”
“We’re not burglars, Cabot. We’re authorized to enter by the lady of your house.”