“You must be mad, mad!” shrieked the detective, tearing open the window, and vanishing.
“For Heaven’s sake, Wally, no more shooting!” cried Grant, running after Furneaux.
Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the place in semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed loudly.
“You Steynholme folk are all on the jump,” said Hart. “Cheer up, fair dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live cartridge is often more effective than an ocean of talk.”
“Bub-bub-but who’s shot, sir?” gasped Minnie.
“A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine.”
“Owd Ben!” sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the housekeeper was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured otherwise. Hart was distressed by this development, but, being eminently a ready person in an emergency, he rose to the occasion by extracting the empty case from the revolver, and holding it to the poor woman’s nostrils, while supporting her with an arm and a knee.
“This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie,” he said. “Now, don’t get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and we’ll have your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye comes back to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he’s busy outside.”
“That’s father!” shrieked Minnie hysterically.