Phineas Duge,
fully dressed, was entering some figures in a small memorandum book on
the table before him.
"Mr. Duge," the young man exclaimed, "forgive me for disturbing you, but
I think that if you feel strong enough you ought to come downstairs into
the library at once."
Phineas Duge did not hesitate. There was a light in his eyes which
transformed his face. He knew as though by inspiration something of what
had happened. He took the back stairs, and descending at a pace quite
extraordinary for a sick man, he was inside the library in less than a
minute. It was easy to see that Smedley's alarm had not been altogether
ill-founded. A chair was overturned; Virginia was lying face downwards
upon the floor in front of the desk. Phineas Duge dropped his cigarette,
and fell on his knees by her side. Then he saw that her hands and feet
were tied with an antimacassar torn into strips, and a rude sort of gag
was in her mouth. She opened her eyes at his touch, and moaned slightly.
In a moment or two he had released her from her bonds, and removed the
handkerchief which had been tied into her mouth.
"Fetch some brandy," he told the young man, "and keep your mouth shut
about this.
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