"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.
I ran to Aunt Selina and tried to straighten her head. In a
moment she opened her eyes, sat up and stared around her. She saw
the kettle at once.
"What are you doing with boiling water on the floor?" she said to
me, with her returning voice. "Don't you know you will spoil the
floor?" The ruling passion was strong with Aunt Selina, as usual.
I could not find out the trouble from any one; people appeared
and disappeared, carrying strange articles. Anne with a rope, Dal
with his hatchet, Bella and the kettle, but I could get a
coherent explanation from no one. When the guards finally decided
that Jim was in earnest, and that the rest of us were not
crawling out a rear window while he held them at the door, they
came in, three of them and two reporters, and Jim led them to the
butler's pantry.
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