“Don’t go up to that gloomy old house, Mr. Strong,” she implored, looking up at him with an expression on her face that made life seem very precious to him at that moment.
“There is not the slightest cause to worry,” he said, quietly, although his pulse was beating feverishly. “This gentleman—Mr.—Mr.——?”
“My name is Benedict,” answered the reporter, impatiently. “I found Miss Strong with a sprained ankle near the gate, and have had the pleasure of being of service to her. But you’ll pardon me for using heroic measures. I have wasted too much time already.”
With these words, Benedict seized Rudolph by the collar of his coat and hurled the pudgy little Rexanian into a far corner of the room. Then he bolted through the door.
“I can’t let him go alone,” cried Ned Strong, reluctantly but firmly removing Mrs. Brevoort’s hand from his arm. “Remain here. We’ll be back at once.”
Thus saying, he dashed down the dark corridor in pursuit of Benedict.
Rudolph Smolenski had managed to totter to his feet and was gazing about the room in a dazed way. The reporter had, in the excitement of the moment, used more force in removing the Rexanian from his path than was actually necessary for his purpose.
“What do you make of all this, Kate?” exclaimed Mrs. Brevoort, reseating herself beside the girl, and looking at the ludicrous picture that Rudolph presented, with a nervous smile on her face.
“I’m sure I’ve got beyond the point where my opinion is worth much,” answered Kate, wearily. “My ankle aches, and the whole universe seems to be nothing but an exposed nerve.”
“Poor girl, how thoughtless I’ve been!” cried Mrs. Brevoort, gently, pushing Kate back into a reclining position. “Get me some cold water, man,” she said to the lodge-keeper, whose wits were beginning to return to his aching head.