“Stout fellow!” said Michael, approvingly.
At that moment, a voice shouted above the confused noises of the house:
“Come on, you fellows! He’s got away. Lend hand to chase him.”
And a sound of running steps filled the hall, as the male guests poured out in answer to the summons.
“You don’t need me any longer, Joan?” Michael questioned. “Right! Then I’m off to lend a hand.”
He ran to join the rest.
Left alone, Joan retraced her steps to the ball-room; but instead of re-entering it, she passed on in the direction of the museum, whither a number of the guests were making their way also.
“I hope nobody’s got badly hurt,” she thought to herself as she hurried along. “I do wish I’d taken the hint and not asked to have that collection thrown open to-night.”
Much to her relief, she found Sir Clinton sitting on a chair beside the museum door. In the doorway stood the keeper, looking none the worse and busying himself with fending off the more inquisitive among the guests who wished to enter the room. Joan noticed that the museum itself was in darkness though the lights were burning in the rest of the house.
“You’re not hurt, are you, Sir Clinton?” she asked as she came up to him.