ar lurched to a sudden halt.

Weak, spent, and weary, the girl made no effort to consummate her
escape, realising that it had been a forlorn hope at best.

CHAPTER XVII

EXPOSE

Some little time later there filed into the boudoir of the hostess of
Gosnold House a small but select troupe of strangely various tempers.

Mrs. Gosnold herself led the way, portentous countenance matching well
her tread of inexorable purpose but in odd contrast to the demure
frivolity of her Quaker costume.

Sally followed, nervously sullen of bearing toward all save her
employer.

Mr. Walter Arden Savage came next, but at a respectable distance, a
very hang-dog Harlequin indeed, a cigarette drooping disconsolately
from the corner of his mouth.

At the door he stood aside to give precedence to his sister, no longer
Columbine, but a profoundly distressed and apprehensive blonde person
in a particularly fetching negligee.

Miss Pride alone wore her accustomed mien--of sprightly
spinsterhood--unruffled.

Mr. Lyttleton was almost too much at ease; Mr. Mason was
exceedingly dubious; Mr. Trego was, for him, almost abnormally grave.

This last, bringing up the rear of the procession, closed the hall
door at a sign from Mrs. Gosnold. The company found seats
conspicuously apart, with the exception of Mrs. Standish and Savage,
likewise Mercedes, who stuck to her dear Abigail as per invariable
custom. Sally, on her part, found an aloof corner where she could
observe without being conspicuous.

"So," said Mrs. Gosnold, taking her place beside the desk and raking
the gathering with a forbidding eye. "Now if you will all be good
enough to humour me without interruption, I have some announcements to
make, some news to impart, and perhaps a question or two to ask. It's
late, and I'm tired and short of temper, so you needn't be afraid I
won't make the proceedings as brief as possible. But there are certain
matters that must be settled before we go to bed to-night."

She managed a dramatic pause very effectively, and then: "I've been
kidnapped," she announced.

Murmurs of astonishment rewarding her, she smiled grimly.

"Kidnapped," she iterated with a sort of ferocious relish. "At my age,
too. I don't wonder you're surprised. I was. So were my kidnappers,
when they found out who they were making off with. For, of
course, it was a mistake. They were conventional kidnappers, with not.
an ounce of originality to bless themselves with, so na