“God, sir!” he said, turning on me with his teeth set like those of a fighting animal. “What’s all this to me? I love her! She’s mine! She’s the most beautiful—the best woman in all the world!”
Margaret Murchie shivered.
After a moment Estabrook’s hands were both clutching my sleeve.
“You’ll stand by now?” he said, looking up into my face. “I can’t ask any one else. You can see that. You’ll help? What shall we do?”
“Depend on me,” I answered him. “We must be careful. Wait! Just let me review these facts. The first move must be for us to send Margaret back into the house. Do you suppose your wife knows she is out of it?”
“I don’t believe so,” said he. “I watched the window all the time we were taking Margaret into this limousine. The curtains never moved.”
“Good!” I cried. “Now, Miss Murchie, listen to what I say. How often does your mistress call you during the day?”
“Every three or four hours, I think, sir.”
“Very well. Take this umbrella and go back. Use Mr. Estabrook’s key. Enter as quietly as possible. Say nothing to any one. If your mistress should allow more than five hours to go by without calling you, go to her door and knock. If there is no answer, telephone my office. You mustn’t allow a second of delay. It will mean danger.”
Estabrook listened to these instructions with staring eyes.