A clamorous banging of the door-knocker interrupted, and Aunt Phyllis put her turbaned head into the drawing-room to say, with her fat chin in the air and a fine scorn in her tone: “Po’ white man at de front do’, comed to ast faw Mistoo Tregarbin.”
Tregarvon obeyed the summons rather reluctantly and found Tryon on the veranda. The foreman had been running and was short of breath.
“You’d better come over—you an’ Mr. Carfax,” he broke out hurriedly. “We’ve done caught the dannymiter. He was aimin’ to blow us all to kingdom come, this time!”
“Who is it?” Tregarvon grated.
Tryon wagged his head mysteriously. “Hit ain’t Sawyer; hit’s the same skunk I been a-suspicionin’ ever sense we had that talk yisterday. You’ll see when you get thar’.”
Tregarvon went back to the drawing-room, meaning to cut Carfax out if possible without giving a general alarm. But Wilmerding overheard his whispered explanation to Carfax and so did Miss Wardwell; whereupon he spoke up quickly, briefing the story of the Ocoee troubles, and adding its latest sequel. The effect upon the master of Westwood House was instantaneous and militant.
“What’s that, suh? Tryin’ to dynamite yo-uh machinery whilst you and Mistuh Carfax are makin’ us a friendly visit heah at Westwood House?” he demanded, his deep voice rumbling in the wrath of outraged hospitality. “Richa’dia, daughtuh, get me my coat and hat; I’m goin’ oveh yondeh with these young gentlemen. No, Mistuh Tregarvon; don’t deny me that privilege, suh; yo-uh bein’ undeh my roof at the precise moment makes yo-uh quarrel my quarrel, suh! You’ll give me a seat in yo-uh steam-wagon, and—daughtuh, my coat and hat, immediately, if you please. And fetch me the old shot-gun, too, my deah.”
By this time Wilmerding was declaring that he must not be left out; and in the momentary confusion Tregarvon saw that the judge’s daughter, while she was obeying her father’s commands, was pitiably agitated. Assuming that her anxiety was for her father’s safety, he ventured a word of assurance while she was holding the overcoat for the sleeves of which the judge was hastily fumbling.
“You mustn’t distress yourself—we are not going to let your father get hurt,” he protested.
“It’s—it’s not that!” she gasped; “it is something far worse.” Then, in an agonized whisper that he had to bend lower to hear: “This man they have taken; promise me that you will let him go before my—before any one else has seen him!”