"What, Matilda!" cried Jack; and from above, like an echo transposed an octave higher, sounded another, "What, Matilda!"
"Yes, Mr. Jack. Yes, ma'a—yes, Mary."
"But where the devil have you been?" exclaimed Jack, coming to her side.
Mary had also hurried down to her. "Matilda, the way you ran away from us!"
"I got a—er—sudden message. There was no time—"
"Never mind about explaining now," interrupted Jack. "Go down and stop that racket before they break in the doors. And thank God you're here just in time, Matilda! You're just the person to do it: housekeeper, caretaker. But be careful if they're reporters. Now, hurry."
Jack and Mary scuttled back to the haven of upstairs, and Matilda shivered down through the blackness. As she passed through the lower hall, a hand reached out of the dark and touched her. She managed not to cry out.
"Don't let them know about me!" implored Mrs. De Peyster.
"I'll—I'll do my best, ma'am," quavered Matilda, and glided weakly on.
When she opened the servants' door, a dripping policeman caught her arm. "Down here, Bill," he called to the man battering at the door above; and a minute later two officers were inside, and the door was closed, and a light was flashing in Matilda's face.