Erveng took hold of my arm and walked me over to where
Phil stood. "Now," he said sternly, "I should like an explanation of
this extraordinary behaviour."
But not a word said either of us,--I couldn't, I was so frightened; I
assure you I wished myself home! And while we stood there--Mr. Erveng
waiting for an answer--the door opened, and the boy that Max had said
was Hilliard Erveng came into the room.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, turning back, "I didn't know any
one was with you."
But his father called out to him, "Stay here, Hilliard!" Then turning
to us he said _very_ sternly, "I have reason to think that this
manuscript"--he still held the Fetich in his hand--"has been stolen
from its rightful owner, of whom I have heard, and to whom I shall take
pleasure in restoring his property. Unless you both at once take off
what I am convinced is a disguise, and offer a full and satisfactory
explanation, I shall be under the painful necessity of calling in a
policeman and giving you in charge."
"Oh, no! no! _no!_" I cried out. "We _didn't_ steal it--at least, it
belongs to our father, and--"
[Illustration: "THERE WE STOOD; A FINE PAIR WE MUST HAVE LOOKED!"]
But Phil strode over to my side.
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