"Lady Constance!" gasped T. B. in surprise.
A woman who was sitting in a chair near the reading lamp rose quickly and turned her startled gaze to the detective.
"Mr. Smith," she said, and ran towards him. "Oh, thank God you have come!"
She grasped him by his two arms; she was half hysterical in that moment of her release, and was babbling an incoherent string of words; a description of her capture—her fear—her gratitude—all in an inextricably confused rush of half completed phrases.
"Sit down, Lady Constance," said T. B. gently; "collect yourself and try to remember—have you seen Poltavo?"
"Poltavo?" she said, startled into coherence. "No, is he here?"
"He is somewhere here," said T. B. "I am seeking for him now. Will you stay here or will you come with us?"
"I would rather come with you," she said with a shiver.
They passed through the door together.