Jimmy was on his knees by the side of the girl. She had not fainted, but had suddenly realized her terrible danger, and the strain and weariness of the night adventure had brought her trembling to her knees. Very tenderly did Jimmy’s arm support her. She felt the strength of the man, and, thrilled at his touch, her head sank on his shoulder and she felt at rest.
Angel was busily examining the windows, when a loud report outside the house arrested his attention.
“What is that?” asked the girl faintly.
“It is either Mr. Spedding’s well-timed suicide, which I fear is too much to expect,” said Angel philosophically, “or else it is the same Mr. Spedding destroying the working parts of our car. I am afraid it is the latter.”
He moved up and down the room, examined the smaller chamber at the other end, then sniffed uneasily.
“Miss Kent,” he said earnestly, “are you well enough to tell me something?”
She started and flushed as she drew herself from Jimmy’s arms, and stood up a little shakily.
“Yes,” she said, with a faint smile, “I think I am all right now.”
“What is there under here?” asked Angel, pointing to the floor.
“An old workshop, a sort of storehouse,” she replied in surprise.