“I will explain to-morrow, dear Mrs. Odell-Carney,” she pleaded.  “Don’t press me now.  Everything shall be all right.  Oh, how I wish Constance were here!  She understands.  But she’s off listening to silly love talk and doesn’t even care what happens to me.  Burton, will you be good enough to spank Tootles if she doesn’t stop that screaming?”

By nine o’clock that night every one was discussing the significant disappearance of Constance Fowler and the fraudulent husband of Mrs. Medcroft.  Just as Mr. Odell-Carney was preparing to announce to the unfortunate wife that the couple had eloped in the most cowardly fashion, Miss Fowler herself appeared on the scene, dishevelled, mud-spattered, and hot, but with a look of firm determination in her face.  She strode defiantly through the main hall, ignoring the curious gaze of the loungers, whisking the skirt of her habit with disdainful abandon as she passed on to the lift.  A few moments later she burst in upon her sister, a very angry young person indeed.  The Odell-Carneys were down the hall discussing her strange defection; it was with no little relief that they saw her enter the room.

“Are we alone?” demanded Miss Fowler, not giving Edith time to proclaim her joy at seeing her.  “Well, I’ve arranged a way to get him out,” she went on, her lips set.

“Out?” murmured Mrs. Medcroft.

“Of course.  We can’t let him stay in there all night, Edith.  How much money have you?  Hurry up, please!  Don’t stare!”

“In where?  Who’s in where?”

“He’s in gaol!” with supreme scorn.  “Haven’t you heard?”

Mrs. Medcroft began to cry.  “Mr. Brock in gaol?  Good heavens, what shall I do?  I—­I was depending on him so much.  He ought to be here at this very instant.  What has he been doing?”

“Edith Medcroft, stop sniffling, and don’t think of yourself for a while.  It will do you a great deal of good.  Where’s your money?”

Ruthlessly she began to rummage Edith’s treasure trunk.  The other came to her assistance after a dazed interval.  The family purse came to light.

“I have a little over four thousand crowns,” she murmured helplessly.

“Give it me, quick.  There’s no time to waste.  I have about five thousand.  It’s all in notes, thank heaven.  It isn’t quite enough, but I’ll try to make it do.  Don’t stop me, Edith.  I haven’t time to answer questions.  He’s in gaol, didn’t you hear me say?  And I love him!”

“But the—­the money?  Is it to bail him out with?”

“Bail?  No, my dear, it’s to buy him out with.  ’Sh!  Is there any one in that room?  Well, then, I’ll tell you something.”  The heads of the two sisters were quite close together.  “He’s in a cell at the—­the prison-hof, or whatever you call it in German.  It’s gaol in English.  I have arranged to bribe one of the gaolers—­his guard.  He will let him escape for ten thousand crowns—­we must do it, Edith!  Then Mr. Brock will ride over the Brenner Pass and catch a train somewhere, before his escape is discovered.  I expect to meet him in Paris day after to-morrow.  Have you heard from Roxbury?”