“MABEL COLTON.”
“And—and—” panted Lute, “she told me to tell you to please hurry. And you'd ought to seen her face! She—”
I heard no more. I did not wait to get my hat, as the excited bearer of the note had urged me to do. Bareheaded, I hurried out of the dining-room and along the path toward the Colton mansion.
CHAPTER XXI
It was early in the evening, but the big house was lighted as if for a reception; lights in the rooms above, lights in the library and hall and drawing-room. Doctor Quimby's horse and buggy stood by one of the hitching posts and the Colton motor car was drawn up by the main entrance. From the open windows of the servants' quarters came the sounds of excited voices. I hastened to the front door. Before I could push the button of the electric bell the door was opened. Johnson, the butler, peered out at me. Most of his dignity was gone.
“Is it you, Mr. Paine?” he asked, anxiously. “Come in, sir, please. Miss Mabel has been asking for you not a minute ago, sir.”
I entered the hall. “What is it, Johnson?” I asked, quickly. “How is Mr. Colton?”
The butler looked behind him before replying. He shook his head dubiously.
“He's awful ill, sir,” he whispered. “The doctor's been with him for an hour; 'e's unconscious and Mrs. Colton is takin' on something terrible. It's awful, sir, ain't it!”