way to the
gates.

I was shaving when Antoine appeared, pale from the stirring incidents of
the night.

"I suppose you know, sir," he said, straightening the coffee-pot on the
tray in an attempt to conceal his emotions.

"When did you first hear that the ladies meant to leave to-day?" I
shouted with a flourish of the razor. "If you knew it last night and
didn't tell me----"

"I heard it, incidental-like, at breakfast this morning. There was a
night letter, sir, read by the agent at Barton to the mistress quite
early, sir. I can't tell you what it was, sir."

"Did they seem alarmed or depressed; was there anything to indicate
whether they had bad news?"

"They seemed quite merry over it, sir. But you know their goings-on,
which I never understand, sir. For all I know it may be a death in the
family; you'd never tell it from their actions. You will pardon me for
remarking it again, sir; but, considering that they're ladies, their
actions and goings-on is most peculiar."

"As to luggage, I hope you had the intelligence to note whether they
went for a long stay?"

"Only the suitcases that fits into the rack of the machine. Louise
thought they might be going for a week, maybe."

This was all I got out of him. Mrs. Bashford and Mrs. Farnsworth had
flown, giving no hint of the length of their absence. They had slipped
away and left me with a prisoner that I didn't know what to do with;
with an inquiry by the American Department of State hanging over me;
with Torrence to reckon with, and, in general, a muddled head that only
a vast number of lucid explanations could restore to sanity.

I called from the window to one of the gardeners who knew how to manage
a machine and told him to be ready to drive me to the village in half
an hour. There was an express at ten-forty, and by taking it I would at
least have the satisfaction of being somewhere in New York when the
runaways arrived. Antoine packed my suitcase; I am not sure that he
didn't shed tears on my belongings. The old fellow was awed into silence
by the rapidity with which history had been made in the past twenty-four
hours, and clearly was not pleased by my desertion.

We drove past the tool-house, where I found the prisoner seated on a
wheelbarrow smoking a cigarette. He was no more communicative than when
I had questioned him after his capture. He smiled in a bored fashion
when I asked if he wanted anything, and said he would be obliged for
cigarettes and