“He—there he is. Hear him? There!”
Mr. Hungerford, paralyzed with astonishment and dizzy from the slap, had moved, injudiciously. Laban heard him.
“Hey?” he bellowed. “Ah! I've got him. Stand still, dum you! I've got him, Zuby. Who is he? What did he do?”
“I—I don't know who he is,” panted the frightened housekeeper. “He—he kissed me.”
“KISSED you! YOU? Why—”
“It's a mistake!” cried Cousin Percy, frantically struggling in the grasp of his captor. “I—Stop! Stop! Help! Help!”
The hall became a pandemonium of thumps, struggles, cries for help, and pleas for mercy. Azuba added her shrieks to the tumult. From above Captain Dan shouted and Serena screamed. Then the chandelier blazed. Gertrude had pressed the button at the top of the stairs.
“Let him be!” ordered the young lady, rushing to the rescue. “Don't! don't! Azuba, stop him!”
“Labe! stop! stop!” pleaded the housekeeper. “You—My soul! it's Mr. Hungerford.”
It was what there was left of Mr. Hungerford. Mr. Ginn extended the disheveled, whimpering remnant at arm's length and regarded it.