"Will you take me home?" his sister implored.
"Can't do it. I'll see you later, and you, too, Merkle." His last words, delivered as he swung himself upon the running-board of the car, sounded like a threat; a moment later, and the machine had disappeared into the night.
"Hm-m! Your brother has a suspicious mind," Merkle said. "I hope he won't make you any trouble."
"He can't make trouble for ME." Lorelei's emphasis on the last word made her meaning clear; her companion shrugged:
"Then there's no harm done, I assure you."
They turned in upon the driveway, walking silently, then as they neared the Chateau they became aware of an unusual commotion in progress there. Men were running from stable to garage, others were scouring the grounds; from the open door came a voice pitched high in anger. The speaker was evidently beside himself with wrath. He was shouting orders to scurrying attendants, and abusing the manager, who hovered near him in a frantic but futile effort at pacification.
The enraged person proved to be Jarvis Hammon. He was hatless, purple-faced, shaken with combative fury. At first the two new-comers thought he was dangerously drunk, but, as they mounted to the tiled terrace which served as an outdoor eating-place they saw their mistake. Recognizing Merkle, Hammon's manner changed instantly.
"John!" he cried. "By God! you're just in time."
"What's happened?"
"Blackmail, or worse. I hardly know, myself. These ruffians put up something on me—they're all in it, even the manager."