"Where's the sense in making that noise?" Balmayne growled. "Why didn't you bring your latchkey as I suggested, instead of leaving the front door open? Some zealous policeman found it open and rang the servants up."
"We must try the back gate," Leona suggested.
They crept round there unseen by dint of this and that doorway, but there was no luck that night. The little gate was fast. Hetty had seen to that. She had made up her mind to know what time the Countess returned, together with all other information possible.
"You'll have to knock them up," said Balmayne, between his teeth. "It will take time and it will be dangerous. But there's nothing else for it that I can see. Say you have had a spill out of a cab or something of that kind. When you have bustled them off upstairs again I'll sneak into the house. I could do with a cigarette and a brandy and soda quite as much as you can."
It was hard work to make anybody hear, especially as a watchful policeman might come along at any moment. But presently a light gleamed behind the stained glass of the front door, and then Hetty's face came into sight. She looked heavy and sleepy, a white wrap was about her shoulders.
But her stare of amazement was quite unaffected. She it was who had locked the front door with the full determination of only opening at her will. But she had not expected to see a figure like this.
"I--I was nearly asleep," she stammered, "when I heard the bell. And the moment I heard it I came down. Why--why--oh, what has happened?"
There was no acting here--at least not for the moment. Hetty's gentle heart was touched by the physical wreck before her. Here was a woman in distress who wanted the aid and assistance of a sister.
"Let me look at you," she said, tenderly. "Let me get water and some towels."
But the Countess thrust her fiercely aside.