“Bah! Old cats like that have got nine lives,” said the man, contemptuously. “Here, give me a clean glass cloth, and I’ll shove a gag in her mouth.”
“No, no. She’s bad enough as it is,” whispered the butler. “Let her be.”
The footman looked at the old housekeeper dubiously, and then unwillingly gave up his project.
“Shall we put her in the plate-closet? I have the key.”
Arthur laughed.
“Why, that would smother her in half an hour. No; help me to lay her down on the hearth-rug. We can come and look at her now and then. But she won’t move. We’ve pretty well frightened her to death.”
Judging from appearances, this was the case, and after laying the unfortunate woman on the hearth-rug, they took portmanteaus and coats and hurried out into the main passage, then into that which went off at right angles, to stop in front of the lobby door.