king just now must be dangerous to a man of
your build!"

"I am afraid I shall have to make a clean breast of it," Henson said,
with what he fondly imagined to be an engaging smile. "You may, perhaps,
be aware that yonder Rembrandt has a history. It was stolen from its
present owner once, and I have always said that it will be stolen again.
Many a time have I urged Lord Littimer to make it secure."

"How grateful you should be to me for having done so!"

"Ah, you are cynical still, which is a bad thing for one so young
and--er--charming. I came down here to see my very noble relative, and
his son accompanied me. I came to try and make peace between father and
son. But that is a family matter which, forgive me, I cannot discuss with
a stranger. Our train was late, or we should have been here long ago. On
reaching the castle it struck me as a good idea to give Lord Littimer a
lesson as to his carelessness. My idea was to climb through the window,
abstract the Rembrandt, and slip quietly into my usual bedroom here. Then
in the morning, after the picture has been missed, I was going to tell
the whole story. That is why Mr. Littimer entered this way and why I
followed when I found that he had failed to return. It was a foolish
thing to do, and the _denouement_ has been most humiliating. I assure you
that is all."

"Not quite," Christabel drawled. "There is something else."

"And what may that be, my dear young lady?"

"To tell your story to Lord Littimer before you sleep. That kind of
romance may do for Great Britain, but it wouldn't make good family
reading in the States."

"But, my dear young lady, I beg of you, implore you--"

"Come off the grass! I'm to let you go quietly to bed and retire myself,
so that when morning arrives you will be missing together with as much
plunder as you can carry away. No, sir."

Henson advanced angrily. His prudence had gone for the time. As he came
down upon Christabel she raised her revolver and fired two shots in quick
succession over Henson's shoulder. The noise went echoing and
reverberating along the corridor like a crackling of thunder. A door came
open with a click, then a voice demanded to know what was wrong.

"Now I guess the fat is in the fire," Christabel said.

Henson dropped into a chair and groaned. Lord Littimer, elegantly attired
in a suit of silk pyjamas and carrying a revolver in his hand, came
coolly down the corridor. A curious servant or two would have foll