Faint, yet pursuing, she followed on his trail, and arrived in the doorway just as the pistol-report of the burst lock rang out.
She stood looking at him blankly. He was holding a drawer in one hand. Why, she could not imagine.
"Lord Dreever!" she exclaimed.
The somber determination of his lordship's face melted into a twisted, but kindly smile.
"Good!" he said, perhaps a trifle thickly. "Good! Glad you've come. We're pals. You said so—on stairs—b'fore dinner. Very glad you've come. Won't you sit down?"
He waved the drawer benevolently, by way of making her free of the room. The movement disturbed one of the bank-notes, which fluttered in Molly's direction, and fell at her feet.
She stooped and picked it up. When she saw what it was, her bewilderment increased.
"But—but—" she said.
His lordship beamed upon her with a pebble-beached smile of indiscribable good-will.
"Sit down," he urged. "We're pals. No quol with you. You're good friend. Quol—Uncle Thomas."
"But, Lord Dreever, what are you doing? What was that noise I heard?"
"Opening drawer," said his lordship, affably.
"But—" she looked again at what she had in her hand—"but this is a five-pound note."
