“Bother the rope!” I found myself forced to look into two earnest eyes. “Kit, were you VERY angry when I kissed you that night on the roof?” “Very,” I maintained stoutly. “Then prepare yourself for another attack of rage!” he said. And Betty opened the door. She had on a fetching pale blue dressing gown, and one braid of her yellow hair was pulled carelessly over her shoulder. When she saw me on my knees beside the bed (oh, yes, I forgot to say that, quite unconsciously, I had slid into that position) she stopped short, just inside the door, and put her hand to her throat. She stood for quite a perceptible time looking at us, and I tried to rise. But Tom shamelessly put his arm around my shoulders and held me beside him. Then Betty took a step back and steadied herself by the door frame. She had really cared, I knew then, but I was too excited to be sorry for her. “I--I beg your pardon for coming in,” she said nervously. “But--they want you downstairs, Kit. At least, I thought you would want to go, but--perhaps--” Just then from the lower part of the house came a pandemonium of noises; women screaming, men shouting, and the sound of hatchet strokes and splintering wood. I seized Betty by the arm, and together we rushed down the stairs. Chapter XXIII. COMING The second floor was empty. A table lay overturned at the top of the stairs, and a broken flower vase was weltering in its own ooze. Part way down Betty stepped on something sharp, that proved to be the Japanese paper knife from the den. I left her on the stairs examining her foot and hurried to the lower floor. Here everything was in the utmost confusion. Aunt Selina had fainted, and was sitting in a hall chair with her head rolled over sidewise and the poker from the library fireplace across her knees. No one was paying any attention to her. And Jim was holding the front door open, while three of the guards hesitated in the vestibule. The noises continued from the back of the house, and as I stood on the lowest stair Bella came out from the dining room, with her face streaked with soot, and carrying a kettle of hot water. “Jim,” she called wildly. “While Max and Dal are below, you can pour this down from the top. It’s boiling.” Jim glanced back over his shoulder. “Carry out your own murderous designs,” he said. And then, as she started back with it, “Bella, for Heaven’s sake,” he called, “have you gone stark mad? Put that kettle down.” She did it sulkily and Jim turned to the policeman. “Yes, I know it was a false alarm before,” he explained patiently, “but this is genuine. It is just as I tell you. Yes, Flannigan is in the house somewhere, but he’s hiding, I guess. We could manage the thing very well ourselves, but we have no cartridges for our revolvers.” Then as the noise from the rear redoubled, “If you don’t come in and help, I will telephone for the fire department,” he concluded emphatically.