“Yes, I’m in a mess. Mary Randall—”
“Randall! Boland, don’t tell me you’re scared of that woman, too.”
“Man alive, haven’t you heard? She got into my office in disguise and stole a lot of my papers. I don’t know just yet what she’s got, but I’ve decided to hunt seclusion for a while.”
“She was disguised?”
“Yes, she came into my office as private secretary. I trusted her implicitly. You’ll remember her. She gave the name of Miss Masters.”
Druce stood up with an exclamation. His face had gone white and he clutched at the table for support. Boland stared at him in astonishment.
“What’s hit you?” he demanded.
Druce made no reply. Through his mind was passing the panorama of how he had delivered himself bound hand and foot to the girl he thought he was entrapping. Suddenly, he turned and dashed in a frenzy out of the room. He was bound, with murder in his heart, for Miss Masters’ suite.
As he came tearing out of the office he found himself suddenly seized and halted.
“Let me go,” screamed Druce, “damn you, let me go.”