Chapter Thirteen.
Tells of Another Mystery.
In the drawing-room a startling scene presented itself.
Lying in a heap across the blue silk-covered sofa lay the figure of the lady whom I had seen from without, seated at the piano, while beside her were the gardener and a scared female servant bending over her, and trying to restore her to consciousness.
A short distance away a second female figure was lying face downwards upon the carpet near the window—a young woman in cap and apron whom I recognised as the maid who had lowered the Venetian blinds. Around her face a long black scarf had been twisted tightly, and she lay there motionless.
“Oh! Mr Taking!” gasped the woman, bending over her mistress, “I’m so glad you’re here. There’s been men in the house!”
“Men!” he cried, amazed. “What’s happened to Mrs Parham?”
“We don’t knew. We’ve sent for the doctor and the perlice.”
“But look at Jane!” he exclaimed, crossing to her. “She’ll be suffocated;” and falling on his knees he quickly untied the slip-knot by which the black scarf—a long narrow one with coloured stripes at the ends like an Italian santuzza—had been secured around the girl’s face.
As we turned her over we saw that her drawn countenance was white to the lips. There was no movement that either of us could discover.