“Mr Drinkwater!” she cried in a startled way. “How you frightened me!”
“Love makes men fools,” said Mr Barclay, as he slipped into her home ere she could close the door. “Now take me in and introduce me to your sisters.”
“Adela, is that you? Here, for goodness’ sake. Why don’t you answer?”
“Is she there?”
The first was a rough man’s voice, the next that of a woman, and as they were heard in the passage, another voice cried hoarsely: “It’s of no use: the game’s up.”
“Hist! Hide! Behind that curtain! Anywhere!” panted Adela, starting up in alarm. “Too late!”
Barclay had sprung to his feet, and stood staring in amazement, and perfectly heedless of the girl’s appeal to him to hide, as two rough bricklayer-like men came in, followed by a woman.
“Will you let me pass?” cried Mr Barclay.—“Miss Mimpriss, I beg your pardon for this intrusion. Forgive me, and good-night.”
One man gave the other a quick look, and as Mr Barclay tried to pass, they closed with him, and, in spite of his struggles, bore him back from the door. The next moment, though, he recovered his lost ground, and would have shaken himself free, but the sour-looking woman who had entered with the two men watched her opportunity, got behind, flung her arms about the young man’s neck, and he was dragged heavily to the floor, where, as he lay half stunned, he saw Adela gazing at him with her brows knit, and then, without a word of protest, she hurried from the room.
Mr Barclay heaved himself up, and tried to rise; but one of his adversaries sat upon his chest while the other bound him hand and foot, an attempt at shouting for help being met by a pocket-handkerchief thrust into his mouth.