"Could he have anything to do—with the case?" she gulped.
Stevens pointed hastily about the room at various objects of value easily appropriated.
"Just like as not," he answered. "If it was a thief, he'd have taken that an' that an' that——"
"Isn't it terrible!" gasped Foster; "and isn't it shivery and cold!" She seized a match, crossed over to the fireplace and lit the fire.
"What's that?" she started suddenly.
There was an almost unheard tinkle of an altogether unseen bell; and before its sound died away Stevens had stolen from the room and plunged almost headlong down the stairs. Foster quickly followed him to the door, where she encountered Mrs. Challoner coming down the hall.
"I thought I heard the door-bell just now?" she asked; for while oblivious to the noises of the street, there was little that occurred indoors these days that escaped her notice.
"Yes, ma'am," Foster stammered; "Stevens is answering it."
One glance at the maid's face, however, had sufficed to convince her mistress that something had happened; and for a moment it took all the courage she could summon to her aid to keep her from breaking down completely.
"What is it? Speak!" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice; and then without waiting for an answer, for the sound of voices in the hall below reached her ears: "If that's somebody to see me, I don't want to see them—I don't want to see anybody—I can't see anybody—I won't!..." she ended almost hysterically; and gathering her trailing skirts in her hands, she fled to her room.