“Have you any brandy?” exclaimed the Secretary, noticing the ghastly color of Winthrop’s face. Thornton hastily produced a decanter and gave the half-fainting man a stiff drink, which in a few minutes had the desired effect of bringing him round.
“Thanks,” he murmured faintly.
“What does the doctor mean by letting you come out?” asked Thornton. “You are in no condition to leave your room.”
“I’ll be better in a minute; give me some more,” Winthrop motioned toward the decanter. Colonel Thornton glanced questioningly at the Secretary, who nodded assent, so he gave Winthrop a milder dose, which restored him somewhat, and his voice was stronger when he resumed speech. “The doctor doesn’t know I’m here. I slipped out while Mother was lying down, caught a cab at the corner, and drove over here. I want to see the detective, Brett.”
“Here I am, sir.” Brett stepped forward into the circle about Winthrop.
“Good!” Winthrop raised himself just in time to see Eleanor open the hall door softly. “Come back!” he shouted; then, as she paid no attention to him, cried, “Stop her! stop her; don’t let her slip away!”
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Colonel Thornton, as he stepped forward and pulled Eleanor back into the room and shut the door. “You drunken loafer! stop bellowing at my niece.”
“I won’t, I won’t!” Winthrop had worked himself into a frenzy. “She can’t drug me here, fortunately—I won’t be silent—she is an international spy, and she murdered Senator Carew!”