Henrietta stared at him blankly.
“Where, then,” she said, “is my brother?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure, miss,” Oscar began, and then Mrs. Webb reached the top of the stairs, and joined the astounded group.
After her, trailed the cook and the housemaid, joined as they passed the second floor, by the chambermaid, so that there was a goodly company of startled and excited people to discuss the amazing circumstance.
The servants, however, said little, save a few scared whispers among themselves, for though the lady of the house was often lenient, yet they well knew that no emergency or unusual occurrence was sufficient excuse in Miss Henrietta’s eyes, for any breach of strict adherence to orders.
“Where’s Kimball, Henrietta?” demanded Mrs. Webb, as if her daughter were entirely responsible for her brother’s keeping.
“I don’t know, mother; it’s the queerest thing! He’s gone off somewhere, and yet, he left the door locked behind him.”
“I can understand that,” and Mrs. Webb looked superiorly informed. “He had—that is, there was, something of value—”
“Oh, yes, I know he had Elsie’s wedding gift here,—but the question is, how did he get out? The door was locked when we came up here.”
“He locked it himself, Etta. What ails you?”