But no one had seen Mary. No one could remember to have seen her for a long time. Miss Campbell was not as uneasy as Billie. She was sure that Mary could take care of herself. She was a reliable little thing and knew the address. If she had lost them, the child knew just what to do,—take a hansom and drive straight to their lodgings.
“I dislig to alarb de ladies,” here put in Fräulein Bloch, “bud de young lady might be by dat room loged.”
“What!” cried Miss Helen; “locked in the room with all those horrible wax figures that look like corpses! Oh, heavens, where is a guide? Suppose the child has been left in that dreadful place? It’s enough to make her go mad.”
Filled with alarm, they hastened to find a verger, but there was no one about. Finally they discovered a very old man with a big bunch of keys.
“Come with us at once to the room with the wax effigies,” cried Miss Campbell. “A young girl has been locked in there by mistake.”
“Have you a permit, Madam?”
“Permit! Permit!” cried the distracted woman. “Do you think I care for permits when one of my children is locked up in a roomful of dead kings and queens and parrots? Go instantly and get the key.”
“It is against the rules, Madam.”
Their new friend, whose name they still did not know, now drew the old man aside and spoke to him in a low voice. Then a most remarkable change came over his aged face.
“The ladies will please follow,” he said with cringing politeness, as he selected a key on the bunch and led the way to the distant chapel where the wax figures were kept.