er thing, very handy in some
ways and very awkward in others, and you must use it with commonsense or
you'll get both yourself and other people into trouble. As for the
clock, it's stopping striking is only a coincidence, obviously. Abandon
the word 'Bolshevik.' It's a very overworked word, and wants a long
repose. If the clock had been stopped from striking by your young
friends it would have stopped the evening before last, when they went up
the tower. And don't imagine there's any snub-nosed young lady living
here. There isn't. She must have left while you were down among the
dustbins, Mrs. Milcher--that is to be. She paid you something for your
trouble, quite possibly. If so, give the money to the poor. That will
be the best way to be converted."

"So I will, sir."

"Yes. And now you must go." He unlocked the door and opened it. "Quick.
Quietly. Into the area, and up the area-steps. And stop a moment. Don't
you be seen in the Square for at least a year. A big robbery was
committed in this very house last night. You'll see it in to-day's
papers. My butler connected your presence in the area--and quite
justifiably connected it--with the robbery. Without knowing it you've
been in the most dreadful danger. I'm saving you. If you don't use your
conversion with discretion it may land you in prison. Take my advice,
and be silent first and converted afterwards. Good morning. Tut-tut!" He
stopped the outflow of her alarmed gratitude. "Didn't I advise you to be
silent? Creep, Mrs. Milcher. Creep!"

V

"Well, what have you said to her? What does she say? What have you done
with her?" questioned Eve excitedly, who had almost finished dressing
when Mr. Prohack, gorgeously, but by no means without misgivings,
entered her bedroom.

"I've talked to her very seriously and let her go," answered Mr.
Prohack.

Eve sat down as if stabbed on the chair in front of her dressing-table,
and stared at Mr. Prohack.

"You've let her go!" cried she, with an outraged gasp, implying that she
had always suspected that she was married to a nincompoop, but not to
such a nincompoop. "Where's she gone to?"

"I don't know."

"What's her name? Who is she?"

"I don't know that either. I only know that she's engaged to be married,
and that a certain sacristan is madly but I hope honourably in love with
her, and that she's had nothing whatever to do with the disappearance of
your necklace."

"I suppose she told you so herself!" said Eve, w