“Humph!” he grunted. “You know him, do you?”
“Know him! Of course I do. But—but I must say—”
Captain Dan came tearing down the stairs, his bathrobe fluttering and a slipper missing. In one hand he held a pair of scissors, the only offensive weapon which he had found available at the moment.
“What in blazes?” he demanded. “Burglars, is it?”
Gertrude answered. “No, Daddy,” she said gravely. “It's no one but Cousin Percy. And—and Mr. Ginn. Why, Mr. Ginn, is—is it you?”
Laban nodded. “It's me, all right,” he observed grimly. “Who the devil is this? That's what I want to know.”
Daniel turned to the captive.
“Why—why, Percy!” he gasped. “What—what's happened to you? Let go of him, Labe Ginn! Percy Hungerford, what—what's all this?”
Mr. Hungerford, suddenly freed from the grasp upon his torn shirt collar, staggered against the wall.
“It's—it's a mistake,” he panted. “I—I—this—this blackguard assaulted me. I—I—”