“She came last night about twelve o’clock,” replied Cora, quietly enjoying the shock she had given. “I heard her knocking at the door, and got up and let her in.”
“But why didn’t you call us?” asked Jack.
“I didn’t want to rouse the house,” Cora answered. “I made sure that it was a woman before I opened the door.”
“But that might have been a trap,” reproved Walter. “She might have had confederates with her who would have forced their way in as soon as the door was opened.”
“I didn’t think of that,” admitted Cora. “I knew it was Nina—that’s the name she goes by—and I took her in. The poor thing was drenched from head to foot and was nearly frightened to death. We gave her dry clothes and something to eat and put her to bed.”
And then to the boys and to Aunt Betty, who had entered while they were talking, Cora told in detail what she had learned of the gypsy girl’s story.
The others listened intently, breaking in frequently with questions. Aunt Betty was full of sympathy, though a little dubious about this new element brought into the life of Kill Kare.
The sympathies, too, of the boys were aroused, though their feelings took the form of bitter indignation against Higby. They would have jumped at the chance to form a vigilance committee and thrash him within an inch of his life, if it could have been done without disagreeable publicity for the girls.
As to the mystery itself, they were not as keenly interested as the girls were in solving it. They had a masculine hatred of seeming to pry, and they foresaw a whole lot of possible complications in the presence of the newcomer. But after all, their chivalry was aroused by the girl’s plight, and they cheerfully promised to do all they could to get her out of it.
“On general principles I object to Kill Kare’s becoming an orphan asylum,” laughed Jack. “But you can count on us, sis, to take off our coats and work like beavers to set things right. Eh, fellows?”