Rosalind rose to her feet like one inspired, and Mrs. Marsh, fearing for her reason, stammered brokenly her willingness to go anywhere and do anything that might relieve the strain. When her daughter began to talk of "daggers" she was really alarmed. The girl had alluded to them more than once, but poor Mrs. Marsh's troubled brain associated "daggers" with Anarchists. That any such murderous-sounding weapons should be secreted in a servant's bedroom at Porchester Gardens, be found there by Rosalind, and carried by her all over London in a cab, never entered her mind. Perhaps the sight of Pauline would in itself have a soothing effect, since one could not persist in such delusions when the demure Frenchwoman, in the cap and apron of respectable domestic service, came in answer to the bell. So Mrs. Marsh rang: and another housemaid appeared.
"Please send Pauline here," said the white-faced mother.
"Pauline is out, ma'm," came the answer.
"Will she return soon?"
"I don't know, ma'm—I—I think she has run away."
"Run away!"
Two voices repeated those sinister words. To Rosalind they brought a dim memory of something said by Janoc, to Mrs. Marsh dismay. The three were gazing blankly at each other when the clang of a distant bell was heard.
"That's the front door," exclaimed the maid. "Perhaps Pauline has come back."
She hurried away, and returned, breathless.
"It isn't Pauline, ma'm, but a lady to see Miss Rosalind."