She paused. Dead silence.
She took one step forward nervously.
There was a rush of air, and then she found herself seized, blindfolded, gagged, and lifted off her feet. She tried to cry out, but a hand was over her mouth. She felt herself flung down upon something which was not hard, and then stifled, suffocated, buried.
Again she tried to cry out, but the only result was that she felt herself thrust down, breathless, panting, gasping, fighting for air under a great and oppressive weight.
She struggled, but in vain, and then, half fainting, she lay quite still.
Then again she fancied that she heard a whisper, which seemed to come from a long way off. The weight was removed, there was a slight noise, and struggling once more, she suddenly found herself free, and safe, and alone.
Then she understood what had happened to her. She had been thrown on the springy morocco-covered couch in the study, covered over with all the available cushions, hassocks, and table-cloths, and then, when she ceased to struggle, she had been left to herself, with the result that her first movement had landed her on the floor, where she found herself surrounded by the tablecloths and cushions which had been used to stifle her cries.
She scrambled to her feet, groped her way to the door, and went through into the hall.
Whom should she rouse? Although she felt sure that the thieves would not be discovered, that the affair would end as the theft of the snuff-boxes had done, yet it was necessary for her own sake that she should make known at once the adventure she had passed through.
So she went upstairs to the housekeeper’s bedroom, told her what had happened, and asked her to inform the baronet of her suspicions that some one had broken into the gallery.