A choked cry, or groan, followed by a scuffle, came from the curtained doorway, and Hylda turned sharply.
"Who is there?" she demanded, in a sort of quick alarm that contrasted oddly with her previous air of complete self-assurance.
"Jenkins," growled Winter, "just go there and see that none of the servants are peeping. That door should have been closed. Slam it now!"
The butler hurried with steps that creaked on the parquet floor. Hylda leaned over the balusters and watched him. He fumbled with the curtains.
"It is all right, sir," he said thickly.
"Some one is there," she cried. "Who is it? I am not here to be made a show of, even to please some stupid policemen."
Winter strode noisily across the hall, talking the while, vowing official vengeance on eavesdroppers. He, too, reached the doorway, glanced within, and drew back the curtains.
"Some kitchen-maid, I suppose," he said off-handedly. "Anyhow, she has run away. You need not wait any longer, Miss Prout. Kindly change your clothing as quickly as possible and come with us. You have beaten us. Mr. Osborne must be released forthwith."
"Ah!"
Her sudden spasm of fear was dispelled by hearing that promise. She forgot to "reel" as she ran upstairs, but Furneaux did not remind her. He exchanged glances with Winter, and the latter motioned Jenkins to take Mrs. Bates to her own part of the establishment.