"Get her at once, Henderson," exclaimed Patsy, recovering her wits; "and the dear children, too."
Presently there was a sound of shuffling on the stairs and through the corridor. The door opened to admit the arrivals from Charleroi.
Henderson first pushed in a big woman dressed in a faded blue-checked gown, belted around the waist in a manner that made her look like a sack tied in the middle. Her head was bare, her hair awry, her face sullen and hard; she was undeniably "fleshy" and not altogether clean. She resisted Henderson at every step and glared around her with shrewd and shifting eyes.
Following her came Monsieur Rondel leading a boy and a girl, the latter being a small replica of the woman. The boy was viciously struggling to bite the hand of the Belgian, who held him fast.
"Ah, well," said Rondel, first sighing and then turning with a smile to face the lieutenant, "we have performed our mission. But heaven guard us from another like it!"
Patsy stared hard at the woman.
"This cannot be Mrs. Denton," she gasped, bewildered.
"Indeed?" answered Rondel in English. "She declares that is her name. Question her in French or Flemish, Miss Doyle."
Patsy addressed the woman in French but could elicit no reply. She stood impassive and silent.