There was no immediate response from the inside. Then Miss Thackeray observed, quite coldly: "I think I'd like to hear the lady's voice, if you don't mind. I recognise yours perfectly, Mr. Barnes, but I am not in the habit of opening my--"
"Mr. Barnes speaks the truth," said Miss Cameron. "But pray do not disturb--"
"I guess I don't need to dress," said Miss Thackeray, and opened her door. "Come in, please. I don't know who you are or what you've been up to, but there are times when women ought to stand together. And what's more, I sha'n't ask any questions."
She closed the door behind the unexpected guest, and Barnes gave a great sigh of relief.
"Say, Mr. Barnes," said Miss Thackeray, several hours later, coming upon him in the hall; "I guess I'll have to ask you to explain a little. She's a nice, pretty girl, and all that, but she won't open her lips about anything. She says you will do the talking. I'm a good sport, you know, and not especially finicky, but I'd like to--"
"How is she? Is she resting? Does she seem--"
"Well, she's stretched out in my bed, with my best nightie on, and she seems to be doing as well as could be expected," said Miss Thackeray dryly.
"Has she had coffee and--"
"I am going after it now. It seems that she is in the habit of having it in bed. I wish I had her imagination. It would be great to imagine that all you have to do is to say 'I think I'll have coffee and rolls and one egg' sent up, and then go on believing your wish would come true. Still, I don't mind. She seems so nice and pathetic, and in trouble, and I--"
"Thank you, Miss Thackeray. If you will see that she has her coffee, I'll--I'll wait for you here in the hall and try to explain. I can't tell you everything at present,--not without her consent,--but what I do tell will be sufficient to make you think you are listening to a chapter out of a dime novel."
He had already taken Putnam Jones into his confidence. He saw no other way out of the new and somewhat extraordinary situation.
His uneasiness increased to consternation when he discovered that Sprouse had not yet put in an appearance. What had become of the man? He could not help feeling, however, that somehow the little agent would suddenly pop out of the chimney in his room, or sneak in through a crack under the door,--and laugh at his fears.