But all she did was to back into a corner and go on crying. Mr. Donalds was not profoundly moved. On the contrary, he was irritated.
“I shall search the premises,” he announced, and made for the door.
The woman came after him, calling in a loud and terrified voice:
“Evelyn! Evelyn! Evelyn! Quick!”
This was undoubtedly a warning, and Mr. Donalds went forward very rapidly. He reached the foot of a narrow, boxed-in stairway, and had his foot on the bottom step, when, with a rustle of skirts and a click of high heels, down rushed a little human whirlwind, with such impetuosity that he had just time to spring aside.
“What do you mean by this?” the whirlwind demanded. “What’s he been doing, Betsy?”
“He—he—he—” bleated the other.
Mr. Donalds was silent, staring at this new one. She had red hair. She had, moreover, the air of one who is capable of anything. He felt absolutely certain that she was the kidnaper; and he decided that he would confute, abash, and alarm her by a sudden onslaught.
“Come!” he shouted. “Where is the child? Quick! No nonsense! Where is the child?”
“Do you imagine I’m going to tell you?” said she.