But there was a crisis at hand that must modify all their plans. It was a crisis that no one dreamed of.
CHAPTER XVIII
CATCHING A TARTAR
After Hanson had carried off Owlet in the manner so incoherently announced by Ducky Darling, and more intelligibly related by the hack driver and the railway officials; after he had got her quietly and safely bestowed in the snug compartment he had engaged in the Pullman car, and the train had started, he felt quite satisfied with his work. So far it seemed a complete success.
Owlet lay on the short sofa opposite to him, sleeping under the influence of the chloroform he had administered to her at the instant of first seizing her. She was very quiet, almost too quiet, he at length began to fear.
He did not wish to run any risks.
He stooped over her and looked into her face.
It was very placid; her eyes were closed, her lips slightly apart, her cheeks faintly flushed. She was breathing easily.
“She’ll do,” he said, and sank back into his seat. He drew a newspaper from his pocket, unfolded it, and began to read. He had read half way down the first sporting news column, and was deeply absorbed in his subject, when he was suddenly startled by a voice peremptorily demanding:
“Who are you?”
He actually sprang as he looked up from his paper to see Owlet sitting bolt upright on her sofa, regarding him with great solemn eyes, fearless and critical. He was really thrown off his mental balance for a moment. He had not expected to be brought to book by such a question from such a child. But then he did not know Owlet. He hesitated, and then, pursing up his lips, and opening his eyes very wide, he answered solemnly: