Fluttering hurriedly to the doorway, Aunt Agatha stared in horror at the littered room and Hunch, the latter no reassuring sight at his best, and thence with fascinated gaze at Jokai of Vienna.
With wild imploring eyes Jokai glanced at his hands and feet.
Miraculously Aunt Agatha understood.

After an interval of petrified indecision, during which she trembled violently and made inarticulate noises in her throat, she fluttered excitedly from the room and returned with a pair of scissors.

Urged to noiseless activity by Jokai's fear of the sleeper in the farther room, she cut the ropes which bound him and led him stealthily to the hall below.
"You poor thing!" whispered Aunt Agatha in hysterical sympathy.
"You're as pale as a ghost.

I don't wonder--" But Jokai of Vienna was already bolting wildly through the street door and down the steps.

Aunt Agatha burst into aggrieved tears.
"I don't in the least know what it's all about," she sniffed, greatly frightened, "but what with the immigrant bolting out of the house in his shirt sleeves without so much as a word of thanks--such a nice distinguished fellow as he was, too, for all he smelt of liquor!--and Carl nowhere in sight--and a fat young man, with a hairy chest exposed, sleeping on a whiskey bottle and snoring like a prisoner file, it does seem most mysterious--that's a fact! And my knees have folded up and I can't budge.