"Just the thing!" he said, amiably. "I owe Alfred a call."
The girl laughed shortly. "Ah! He would die of rage—or fright—if he knew; but you can wait there while I go—"
"Oh, I say! You're not going to leave me?" queried Roly in genuine alarm.
"Of course, silly! Some one must bring her."
Van Dam fell silent, speculating upon this last remark. After a moment he said, "You're sure Alfred won't return?"
"Who knows? We must run some hazards. The key will be under the step, I think. Come!"
They gained ingress to the next inclosure through a cedar hedge. Then, as they neared the back door, a distant commotion sounded from the stable-yard, warning them that the Spider's friends had stumbled upon him. But the girl's ready fingers found the key where it was hidden, and an instant later they were in a spotless creole kitchen ornamented with shining pots and pans. A cat rose from a sleepy window-ledge, arched its back, and stretched.
With a warning gesture Van Dam's guide bade him wait, then disappeared, returning in a moment.
"It is as I thought—the house is empty." She beckoned him, and he followed her past a pantry, down a hall, and into a study furnished with a considerable degree of elegance. Drawn blinds shut out the glaring heat; it was dim and cool and restful.
The maiden heaved a sigh of relief and steadied herself against one of the massive mahogany chairs, showing by her attitude that the recent strain had told upon her.