And then, suddenly, the servants’ bell burst into ringing.  And there was a terrific hammering against the servants’ door and also against the door in the boarding.

“Matilda—­what’s that?” breathed Mrs. De Peyster.

“M—­maybe the police saw us come in,” breathed Matilda.

They did not pause for discussion.  Discarding caution, they plunged frantically and noisily up the stairs; until from out of the overhead blackness descended a voice:—­

“Stop!  Or I’ll shoot!”

It was Jack’s voice.

They stopped.

“Who are you?” the voice demanded.

They clung to each other, wordless.

“Who are you?” repeated Jack.

Their voices were still palsied.  They heard his feet begin determinedly to descend.  Mrs. De Peyster loosed her grip on Matilda’s arm and vanished noiselessly downward.

“Speak up there,” commanded Jack, “or I’ll fire on the chance of getting you in the dark.”

“It’s only me, Mr. Jack,” trembled Matilda.

“What, Matilda!” cried Jack; and from above, like an echo transposed an octave higher, sounded another, “What, Matilda!”

“Yes, Mr. Jack.  Yes, ma’a—­yes, Mary.”

“But where the devil have you been?” exclaimed Jack, coming to her side.

Mary had also hurried down to her.  “Matilda, the way you ran away from us!”

“I got a—­er—­sudden message.  There was no time—­”

“Never mind about explaining now,” interrupted Jack.  “Go down and stop that racket before they break in the doors.  And thank God you’re here just in time, Matilda!  You’re just the person to do it:  housekeeper, caretaker.  But be careful if they’re reporters.  Now, hurry.”

Jack and Mary scuttled back to the haven of upstairs, and Matilda shivered down through the blackness.  As she passed through the lower hall, a hand reached out of the dark and touched her.  She managed not to cry out.

“Don’t let them know about me!” implored Mrs. De Peyster.

“I’ll—­I’ll do my best, ma’am,” quavered Matilda, and glided weakly on.

When she opened the servants’ door, a dripping policeman caught her arm.  “Down here, Bill,” he called to the man battering at the door above; and a minute later two officers were inside, and the door was closed, and a light was flashing in Matilda’s face.

“Now, old girl,” said the first officer, tightly gripping her arm and giving it that twist which if a policeman does not give an arm he is no policeman, “what’s your little game, eh?”

“I—­I live here, sir.  I’m the housekeeper.”

“Now don’t try to put that over on us.  You know you ain’t.”

“You must be new policemen, in this neighborhood,” trembled Matilda, “or you’d know I am.”

“We may be new cops, but we don’t fall for old stuff like that.  I was talkin’ to Mrs. De Peyster’s coachman only yesterday.  He told me the housekeeper wasn’t here no more.  So better change your line o’ dope.  Where’s the other one?”