dy loosed off an elephant-gun at me in a dark
corridor, I would climb on to the roof and pull it up after me. Still,
rightly or wrongly, that was how Billie felt; and it flashed across her
mind that Samuel Marlowe, scoundrel though he was, would not have
behaved like this. And for a moment a certain wistfulness added itself
to the varied emotions then engaging her mind.

"I'll go and look, if you like," said Jane agreeably. "You amuse
yourselves somehow till I come back."

She ran easily up the stairs, three at a time. Mr. Mortimer turned to
Mr. Bennett.

"It's all very well your saying Wilhelmina mustn't go, but, if she
doesn't, how can we get the police? The house isn't on the 'phone, and
nobody else can drive the car."

"That's true," said Mr. Bennett, wavering.

"Of course, we could drop them a post-card first thing to-morrow
morning," said Mr. Mortimer in his nasty sarcastic way.

"I'm going," said Billie resolutely. It occurred to her, as it has
occurred to so many women before her, how helpless men are in a crisis.
The temporary withdrawal of Jane Hubbard had had the effect which the
removal of the rudder has on a boat. "It's the only thing to do. I shall
be back in no time."

She stepped firmly to the coat-rack, and began to put on her
motoring-cloak. And just then Jane Hubbard came downstairs, shepherding
before her a pale and glassy-eyed Bream.

"Right under the bed," she announced cheerfully, "making a noise like a
piece of fluff in order to deceive burglars."

Billie cast a scornful look at her fiance. Absolutely unjustified, in my
opinion, but nevertheless she cast it. But it had no effect at all.
Terror had stunned Bream Mortimer's perceptions. His was what the
doctors call a penumbral mental condition.

"Bream," said Billie, "I want you to come in the car with me to fetch
the police."

"All right," said Bream.

"Get your coat."

"All right," said Bream.

"And cap."

"All right," said Bream.

He followed Billie in a docile manner out through the front door, and
they made their way to the garage at the back of the house, both
silent. The only difference between their respective silences was that
Billie's was thoughtful, while Bream's was just the silence of a man who
has unhitched his brain and is getting along as well as he can without
it.

In the hall they had left, Jane Hubbard once more took command of
affairs.

"Well, that's something done," she said, scratching Smith's broad