“Is anybody in this room?” she cried. “Who has taken the key? What is wrong?”
Annie thought for a moment; she then walked straight to the door and flung it open.
“How you frightened me,” said Mrs. Acheson, coming in. “My dear child, what is the matter? How terrible you look! What is wrong?”
“I have had a fright,” replied Annie; “there has been an attempt at burglary.” She shook all over. “Don’t question me now, for I cannot bear it,” she said. “It is safe—he has not taken it. Do you see the square cut out of that pane of glass? He came in that way; he was just about to take the box when I showed myself.”
“The box, child? What box?”
“Belle’s wooden box.”
“What! that wooden box that Belle keeps full of coins?”
“Yes, the same. I saved it; it is in the hall. I—I feel a little faint.”
“Poor child, no wonder! What a terrible scare you have had! Who would have supposed that burglars would come to us? Well, dear, if the box had been stolen, how disappointed they would have been to find only ordinary coins. But come upstairs, Annie; I must get you some sal-volatile at once.”
Mrs. Acheson dragged Annie upstairs, then went to the servants, awoke them, and sent two of them off immediately to the nearest police-station. She questioned Annie still further with regard to the burglary; but could get little or nothing out of her, and concluded that she was stunned by the sudden shock. It was not until the widow had gone back to her room that she remembered how very strange it was that Annie should have locked the drawing-room door, how still stranger it was for Annie to be in the drawing-room at all. She was not naturally