a little thrust forward
toward the door, as though listening for what might come next. The
Princess, if she was in any way discomposed, did not show it. She sat
erect in her chair, her head slightly thrown back, her eyebrows a
little contracted. It was as though she were asking who had dared to
break in so rudely upon her pastime. Jeanne had sunk back into the
window, and was sitting there, her hands clasped together.

Cecil de la Borne glanced at the clock.

"It is nearly eleven o'clock," he said. "The servants will have gone to
bed. I must go and see who that is."

No one attempted to stop him. They heard his footsteps go echoing down
the silent hall. They heard the harsh clanking of the chain as he drew
it back, and the opening of the heavy door. They all looked at one
another in tense expectation. They heard Cecil's challenge, and they
heard muffled voices outside. Then there came the closing of the door,
and the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall. Forrest grasped the table
with both hands, and his face was bloodless. The Princess leaned
towards him.

"For God's sake, Nigel," she whispered in his ear, "pull yourself
together! One look into your face is enough to give the whole show
away. Even Jeanne there is watching you."

The man made an effort. Even as the footsteps drew near he dashed some
brandy into a tumbler and drank it off. Cecil de la Borne entered,
followed by the man who had been Andrew's guest and another, a small
dark person with glasses, and a professional air. Cecil, who had been a
little in front, turned round to usher them in.

"I cannot keep you out of my house, gentlemen, I suppose," he said,
"although I consider that your intrusion at such an hour is entirely
unwarrantable. I regret that I have no other room in which I can
receive you. What you have to say to me, you can say here before my
friends. If I remember rightly," he added, "your name is Berners, and
you are lodging in this neighbourhood."

The man who had called himself Berners bowed to the Princess and Jeanne
before replying. His manner was grave, but not in any way threatening.
His companion stood behind him and remained silent.

"I have called myself Berners," he said, "because it is more convenient
at times to do so. I am Richard Berners, Duke of Westerham. A recent
guest of yours--Lord Ronald--is my younger brother."

The silence which reigned in the room might almost have been felt. The
Duke, looking from one to the