“If Mrs. Blair will allow her daughter to come with me into the little room where I keep my treasure—” Thorndyke was saying to her mother, who, with Colin behind her, stood guard over her young violinist.
“Certainly. Go with her, Colin, please, and see that her head is not quite turned by these honors,” said the unconscious Molly.
Colin needed no further impetus. In spite of a cloud passing over the face of their handsome host, the stalwart fellow placed himself at Kathleen’s side and accompanied them.
A room of small dimensions, but with solid doors, bolted as well as locked. On the walls, in glass cases with a background of crimson velvet, a small but exquisite assemblage of what might be called the bric-à-brac of musical instruments. Violins were there, but Colin’s eye sought in vain for one bearing the mark of a tiny hand with an outstretched finger.
“What a delightful nook!” cried Kathleen. “How I wish there were time to look over its wonders leisurely.”
“Some day—any day that you so ordain,” said the virtuoso. “I and mine are at your command always.”
Colin, seeing Thorndyke’s face transfigured with delight in the girl’s youth and beauty, raged inwardly. He recalled the value he had heard him put upon all women, Kathleen in particular. Strong as a lion to defend her, it was hard for the young fellow to now contain himself until he had wrought out his plan to avenge the sins of this Rupert Thorndyke against the one he had left in a shabby tenement.
He had no idea how he meant to bring about the conviction of this man’s wrong-doing, or to seek for the restoration of the other’s stolen property. But whatever he did, Colin meant that it should be short, sharp, and decisive!
At last chance favored him. His heart beat hard as he followed Kathleen and Thorndyke from object to object of the priceless array.