et now till
we have time to make a plan.'

At that moment there came a knocking at the door. That is the sort of
thing that happens in melodrama, just when the villain has finished off
his job neatly. The correct thing to do is to pale to the teeth, and
with a rolling, conscience-stricken eye glare round the horizon. But
that was not Peter's way.

'We'd better tidy up if we're to have visitors,' he said calmly.

Now there was one of those big oak German cupboards against the wall
which must have been brought in in sections, for complete it would
never have got through the door. It was empty now, but for Blenkiron's
hatbox. In it he deposited the unconscious Rasta, and turned the key.
'There's enough ventilation through the top,' he observed, 'to keep the
air good.' Then he opened the door. A magnificent kavass in blue and
silver stood outside. He saluted and proffered a card on which was
written in pencil, 'Hilda von Einem'.

I would have begged for time to change my clothes, but the lady was
behind him. I saw the black mantilla and the rich sable furs. Peter
vanished through my bedroom and I was left to receive my guest in a
room littered with broken glass and a senseless man in the cupboard.

There are some situations so crazily extravagant that they key up the
spirit to meet them. I was almost laughing when that stately lady
stepped over my threshold.

'Madam,' I said, with a bow that shamed my old dressing-gown and
strident pyjamas. 'You find me at a disadvantage. I came home soaking
from my ride, and was in the act of changing. My servant has just
upset a tray of crockery, and I fear this room's no fit place for a
lady. Allow me three minutes to make myself presentable.'

She inclined her head gravely and took a seat by the fire. I went into
my bedroom, and as I expected found Peter lurking by the other door.
In a hectic sentence I bade him get Rasta's orderly out of the place on
any pretext, and tell him his master would return later. Then I
hurried into decent garments, and came out to find my visitor in a
brown study.

At the sound of my entrance she started from her dream and stood up on
the hearthrug, slipping the long robe of fur from her slim body.

'We are alone?' she said. 'We will not be disturbed?'

Then an inspiration came to me. I remembered that Frau von Einem,
according to Blenkiron, did not see eye to eye with the Young Turks;
and I had a queer instinct that Rasta could