Jed glanced over his shoulder. "You go away," he whispered in reply. "Go away, Ruth. Hurry!"
Her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she could open it the other door, that leading from the outer shop, opened and Leonard Grover came in. He stared at the picture before him—at Ruth Armstrong's pale, frightened face, at Babbitt struggling in his captor's clutch, at Jed.
"Why!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"
No one answered. Phineas was the only one who stirred. He seemed anxious to turn the tableau into a moving picture, but his success was limited. The Major turned to Ruth.
"What is it?" he asked again.
She was silent. Grover repeated his question, addressing Jed this time.
"Well?" he asked, sharply. "What is the trouble here? What has that fellow been doing?"
Jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "He's—he's—" he stammered. "Well, you see, Major, he . . . Hum . . . well, I'm afraid I can't tell you."
"You can't tell me! What on earth— Mrs. Armstrong, will you tell me?"
She looked at him appealingly, pitifully, but she shook her head.