“If that is true, Miss Redmond,” began the sheriff.

“No—­no!” cried Agatha.

“He had nothing to do with it?” questioned the sheriff.

As he waited for her answer, Agatha suddenly came to herself.  Her trembling ceased; she looked about upon them all with her truthful eyes; looked upon Hand standing unconcernedly in the doorway, upon Chatelard in the corner gleaming like an oily devil.

“No—­he had nothing to do with it,” she said.

Chatelard’s laugh beat back her words like a bludgeon.

“Liars, all liars!” he cried.  “I might have known!”

But Chamberlain was impatient of all this.  “And now, Monsieur Kidnapper, you can walk off with this gentleman here.  And you can’t go one minute too soon.  The penitentiary’s the place for you.”

Chatelard turned on him with another laugh.  “You need not feel obliged to hold on to me, Mister Land-Agent.  I know when I’m beaten—­which you Englishmen never do.  Got another of those pears you offered me this morning?”

Before Chamberlain could make reply, or before the sheriff and his prisoner could get to the door, there was the chug of an automobile.  A second later urgent and loud voices penetrated the room, first from the steps, then from the hall.  One was the hearty voice of a man, the other was Lizzie’s.

“Can’t see her!  Tell me I can’t see her after I’ve run a hundred miles a day into the jungle on purpose to see her!  The idea!  Where is she?  In here?” And in stalked Mr. Straker, with cap, linen duster, and high gaitered boots.  He was pulling off his goggles.  “Well, what’s this?  A family party?  Where’s Miss Redmond?”

“Mr. Straker—­” cried Agatha.

“That’s me!  Oh, there you are!  Why don’t you open up and get some light?  I can’t see a thing.”

“Wait a minute, Mr. Straker—­” Agatha was saying, when suddenly the attention of everybody in the room was drawn outside.

When Chamberlain had told Chatelard that his horse was loose in the yard, it happened to be the truth; now, excited by fear of the strange machine that had just arrived, the horse, with flying bridle-rein, was snorting and prancing on his way to the vegetable garden.  It was almost beyond masculine power to resist the impulse of pursuit.  Aleck and Chamberlain sprang through the window, the sheriff went as far as the lawn after them, and in that instant Chatelard slipped like an eel through the open door and out to the gate to Straker’s machine, still chugging.  The sheriff saw him as he jumped in.

“Hey, there!” he shouted, and made a lively run for the gate.  But before he reached it, Chatelard had jerked open the lever, loosened the brake, and was passing the church at half speed.

“Hey, there, quick!” called the sheriff.  “He’s got away!”

But Mr. Hand had already thought what was best to be done.

“Come on, here’s another machine.  We’ll chase him!” he cried, as he went for the white motorcar, standing farther back under the trees.  It had to be cranked, which required some seconds, but presently they were off—­Hand and the sheriff, in hot pursuit after Straker’s car.