“But we weren’t speaking of that name,” cried the little mondaine, emphatically. “You were talking about the ethereal nature of your favorite food. I am sorry to say that I require something more substantial than country air to satisfy my appetite. You will observe, Mr. Strong, that this is a veiled hint intended to make you increase your pace. At the rate at which you are now walking, it will be scandalously late before we get anything to eat.”
“Alas,” cried Ned, in assumed despair, “how little encouragement a man gets to cultivate the poetic side of his nature in these days! Just look at this scene before us,” he continued, turning as they reached the top of a knoll that gave them a view of the Sound and of the rear balcony of the manor-house. They stood in silence for a time, watching the changing tints that the early evening scattered with prodigality across the surface of the land-locked sea. Over toward the Long Island shore a brilliantly lighted steamboat, a great hotel escaping by water toward the east, threw its merry gleam across the waves.
Suddenly Ned Strong laid his hand excitedly on his companion’s arm.
“Look,” he whispered, pointing to the balcony of the manor-house. “What is that?”
A small dark figure could be seen creeping toward one of the windows that opened on the balcony.
“There is a light inside the room,” exclaimed Ned, almost trembling with excitement. At that instant the dark form arose from its recumbent attitude and stood in bold relief against the window. On the instant there came the crash of breaking glass, then silence.
“He’s a burglar!” exclaimed Mrs. Brevoort, her voice shaking perceptibly. Somehow, she did not notice that Ned Strong’s arm had been thrown around her protectingly.
At that moment the sharp, evil crack of a pistol startled the night air.
“A burglar or a murderer,” muttered Ned Strong, awe-struck. “Come,” he cried, almost carrying his companion forward in his excitement. “Come, we must get to the lodge at once and find Rudolph! Come! Quick!”