repairing which she had been
mentally assessing. "We must send for the police at once."

"We don't really need them, you know," said Jane. "If you'll all go to
bed and just leave me to potter round with my gun...."

"And blow the whole house to pieces!" said Mrs. Hignett tartly. She had
begun to revise her original estimate of this girl. To her, Windles was
sacred, and anyone who went about shooting holes in it forfeited her
esteem.

"Shall I go for the police?" said Billie. "I could bring them back in
ten minutes in the car."

"Certainly not!" said Mr. Bennett. "My daughter gadding about all over
the countryside in an automobile at this time of night!"

"If you think I ought not to go alone, I could take Bream."

"Where _is_ Bream?" said Mr. Mortimer.

The odd fact that Bream was not among those present suddenly presented
itself to the company.

"Where can he be?" said Billie.

Jane Hubbard laughed the wholesome, indulgent laugh of one who is
broad-minded enough to see the humour of the situation even when the
joke is at her expense.

"What a silly girl I am!" she said. "I do believe that was Bream I shot
at upstairs. How foolish of me making a mistake like that!"

"You shot my only son!" cried Mr. Mortimer.

"I shot _at_ him," said Jane. "My belief is that I missed him. Though
how I came to do it beats me. I don't suppose I've missed a sitter like
that since I was a child in the nursery. Of course," she proceeded,
looking on the reasonable side, "the visibility wasn't good, but it's no
use saying I oughtn't at least to have winged him, because I ought." She
shook her head with a touch of self-reproach. "I shall get chaffed about
this if it comes out," she said regretfully.

"The poor boy must be in his room," said Mr. Mortimer.

"Under the bed, if you ask me," said Jane, blowing on the barrel of her
gun and polishing it with the side of her hand. "_He's_ all right! Leave
him alone, and the housemaid will sweep him up in the morning."

"Oh, he can't be!" cried Billie, revolted.

A girl of high spirit, it seemed to her repellent that the man she was
engaged to marry should be displaying such a craven spirit. At that
moment she despised and hated Bream Mortimer. I think she was wrong,
mind you. It is not my place to criticise the little group of people
whose simple annals I am relating--my position is merely that of a
reporter--; but personally I think highly of Bream's sturdy
common-sense. If somebo