“Father was sure you’d be awake, but you didn’t seem to be, so we looked around, and pretty soon got in through the front window, which was open.” Mrs. Graham looked frightened. “Then we felt sure there was something to pay, especially when we saw the silver basket and the silver scattered around on the table and sideboard, and the safe open, so father picked up the silver, while Fred and I ran into the kitchen.” Mrs. Graham had gasped when she heard of their discovery, and stood listening with almost tragic intentness.
“We found no one there, but we heard a crash in the hall and ran back. Fred came through the door into the pantry, while I came by the dining-room. First thing I knew I heard somebody fall in the hall, and then Fred called me. He’d found a big fellow standing by the door, evidently waiting for me, and he’d hit him pretty hard on the head. Then we tied his hands with a handkerchief and threw him into the closet.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Graham, looking relieved, while Clara drew a long breath, “that was good. Where is your father. Bring them both here.”
“Isn’t father here?” asked Phil. “Why, he came upstairs first—has that scoundrel touched him, I wonder?” And Phil darted out of the room and down-stairs.
“Then there was some one in the house,” said Mrs. Graham, “for Phil said that Fred had to strike some one.”
“Mamma,” said Clara, tremulously, seizing her mother’s arm, “Fred hit Dr. Pennington!” And she looked at her mother with wide-open eyes of alarm. Mrs. Graham went into the hall, her daughter following her.
“Be still!” commanded Mrs. Graham, opening the door into the servants’ hall. “Girls, I’m ashamed of you! Bridget, Eliza! Be still at once!” Her voice had its effect, and the house became quiet again.
Meantime the two prisoners in the closet had not been idle. Pennington at first lay where he had been thrown, noiselessly trying to slip his hands through his bonds. The burglar had evidently rid himself of the rug, and Pennington could hear him groping his way about the closet, now and again colliding with unknown obstacles. He was nearing the prostrate doctor, who redoubled his efforts to free himself. Suddenly the burglar’s foot struck smartly against Pennington’s head. The man stopped and drew back; then he pushed his foot forward again till it once more touched the doctor. Pennington, who had not quite freed himself when the burglar first collided with him, jerked his hands out of their fastenings, and, springing to his feet, aimed a blow in the direction in which he thought the burglar stood. He missed his aim in the darkness and bruised his knuckles against the wall.
“Whew!” he cried, jumping with pain. Just then he got a blow from the burglar on his shoulder. He turned on him, but caught his foot on the rug and fell at full length. He sprang up in an instant, however, picking up the rug as he did so, and stood prepared to defend himself as long as possible.