I started from my seat. I wanted to rush to the drawing-room door and warn Mr. Rayner; but Laurence prevented me, whispering gravely—
“My darling, you must leave it to us now.”
Every word, every movement had been so quiet that the music still went on while they opened the schoolroom door and crossed the hall. I stood watching them breathlessly.
The three men, Laurence, the most stalwart, foremost, placed themselves against the drawing-room door, and by one mighty push burst it open. I ran forward to the doorway just in time to see Gordon, Mr. Carruthers’s servant, fling down the violin and rush to the opposite window, the shutters of which were unfastened. But I heard the crash of glass, and at the same instant two policemen dashed through the shattered French window, seized and handcuffed him. Then he stood between them, white and immovable, without a struggle.
“It’s no go. We know you’re one of the gang,” said the middle-aged man. “Game’s up. We’ve got your leader.”
“What leader?” asked Gordon calmly.
“James Woodfall.”
“It’s a lie!” snapped out the immovable Gordon. “Jim Woodfall wouldn’t let himself be nabbed by such as you.”
“Why not? We’ve got you.”
The man did not answer.