"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked, sudden fear and suspicion in her eyes.
Brencherly explained quickly.
"Mr. Gard employed me, Miss Marteen, to find your mother, if possible--and--she is here. Don't be alarmed."
Dorothy sank into a chair, weak with relief. Teddy put forth his hand to help her. Instinctively she remained clasping his arm as if his presence gave her strength.
"And she's all right--she isn't hurt--or--or anything?" she implored breathlessly.
"She's very ill, I'm afraid," said Brencherly. "I think you--had better not go to her till the doctor comes. I've sent for him."
"Oh! but I must--I must!" she cried, tears in her voice.
In the rush of happenings no one had thought of Mrs. Mellows. Hers was not a personality to commend itself in moments of stress. Now she suddenly appeared, her eyes swollen with sleep, her ample form swathed in a dressing gown.
"What is the matter?" she complained. "I told you, Dorothy, that I thought it very bad form, indeed, for you and Mr. Mahr to go out. In bereavements, such as yours, sir, it's not the proper thing for you to be making exhibitions of yourself. Like as not the reporters have been taking pictures. And at any time they may find out that my poor dear sister is ill and wandering. I don't know what to say! The papers will be full of it. And you!" she exclaimed, having for the first time become aware of the detective's presence. "Who are you. How did you get in? I hope and pray you're not a reporter!--Dorothy, don't tell me you've brought a reporter in here--or I shall leave this house at once!"
"No, Aunt, no!" cried Dorothy. "This--this gentleman, has brought my mother home. She's in her room now--she's--"