“In your own room, ma’m’seile.”

“Come with me, then.”

With a defiant glance at Mershone she turned haughtily and left the room.  Cerise followed obediently, somewhat astonished at the queer turn of events.

Left alone with Mershone, Fogerty chuckled gleefully.

“Why, it seems I wasn’t needed, after all,” said he, “and we’ve both of us taken a lot of trouble for nothing, Mershone.  The chances are Miss Von Taer would have turned the trick in any event, don’t you think so?” “No, you don’t understand her.  She wouldn’t have interfered if she hadn’t been scared out,” growled the other.  “She’s sacrificed me to save herself, that’s all.”

“You may be right about that,” admitted Fogerty; and then he got up to answer the door-bell, which once more rang violently.

An automobile stood outside, and from it an excited party trooped into the hallway, disregarding the cutting wind and blinding snowflakes that assailed them as they passed in.  There was Arthur Weldon and Uncle John, Patricia and Beth; and all, as they saw the detective, cried with one voice: 

“Where’s Louise?”

Fogerty had just managed to close the door against the wintry blast when the answer came from the stairway just above: 

“She is gone!”

The voice was shrill and despairing, and looking up they saw Diana standing dramatically posed upon the landing, her hands clasped over her heart and a look of fear upon her face.  Over her shoulder the startled black eyes of old Cerise peered down upon the group below.

The newcomers were evidently bewildered by this reception.  They had come to rescue Louise, whom they imagined confined in a lonely deserted villa with no companion other than the woman who guarded her.  Arthur’s own detective opened the door to them and Diana Von Taer, whom they certainly did not expect to meet here, confronted them with the thrilling statement that Louise had gone.

Arthur was the first to recover his wits.

“Gone!” he repeated; “gone where?”

“She had escaped—­run away!” explained Diana, in real distress.

“When?” asked Uncle John.

“Just now.  Within an hour, wasn’t it, Cerise?”

“At ten o’clock I left her, now she is gone,” said the old woman, who appeared as greatly agitated as her mistress.

“Good gracious! you don’t mean to say she’s left the house in this storm?” exclaimed Patsy, aghast at the very thought.

“What shall we do?  What can we do?” demanded Beth, eagerly.

Fogerty started up the stairs.  Cerise turned to show him the way, and the others followed in an awed group.

The key was in the lock of the door to the missing girl’s room, but the door itself now stood ajar.  Fogerty entered, cast a sharp look around and walked straight to the window.  As the others came in, glancing curiously about them and noting the still smouldering fire and the evidences of recent occupation, the detective unlatched the French window and stepped out into the snow that covered the roof of the little porch below.  Arthur sprang out beside him, leaving the rest to shiver in the cold blast that rushed in upon them from the open window.