"I found a pair of large scissors in my valise; perhaps with them the lock can be pried open."
One of the men who had come with Martine was already pounding on the panels of the door to learn where it could most easily be broken in. After one ineffectual effort to pry open the lock, the other one had thrown down the scissors that Mrs. Redmond had handed him. Both of these things had occupied seconds rather than minutes,—seconds that seemed hours to Martine and Mrs. Redmond,—and then, before further violence had been done to the door, there was a click, a turn of the lock, and Amy and Priscilla stood before the four others. Their appearance showed that they had indeed dressed hastily, but they made no apologies as they hurried on.
When they reached the street Mrs. Redmond drew a breath of relief. "Oh, Amy," she cried, "how could you be so careless?"
"I took the key from the door absent-mindedly, and had set my travelling-bag on it. I'm thankful enough that I found it, for the door might have been hard to break in."
"Look, look!" cried Priscilla, excitedly. "We are out none too soon."
As she spoke flames were bursting from the wing of the house that they had so lately left, and men and women were pouring in and out of the main building, removing furniture, pictures, and clothes.
"Let me count you," cried Mrs. Redmond. "I am not sure—"
"It's Martine, mamma,—she is not with us. Where did she go?"