He led the way across the hall, the foreman nervously following. Blatz dreaded the highly polished parquet floor, and the rugs which slipped away directly one’s feet touched them. The only occasion on which he had been there before he had executed an involuntary war dance; and he was not anxious for a repetition of the performance.
Higgins, who had just brought in the after-dinner coffee, favoured the unusual visitor with a look of supercilious superiority; but Celia, with her usual sweetness, invited him to sit down; and insisted on his taking a cup of coffee with them.
Blatz shuffled to the nearest chair, and sat on the edge of it. From the outside the room with its handsome belongings had delighted his artistic sense; but now that he was inside he half wished himself out again.
Herbert Karne explained the nature of the foreman’s errand.
“Things have come to a pretty pass,” he said, bitterly, “when we, who have done those people nothing but good, should have to be warned concerning our own safety because of their sinister designs. One might imagine that we were living in the days of the Inquisition.”
The girls looked scared.
“What do you think they will do?” asked Gladys Milnes.
“I have not the least idea. However, we need not be afraid. Fortunately there is a telephone in the house, so that I can easily ring up the police if there should be occasion to do so.”
Blatz pricked up his ears, and made a mental note of the latter statement.
“By-the-bye,” continued the artist slowly, “did you tie a crucifix round that little Horwitz girl’s neck, yesterday, Celia?”