the
stairway to the basement, but when I got there the stairs were empty,
and something was burning in the kitchen below.

Bella had followed me and was peering over my shoulder curiously.

"There isn't a servant in the house," she said triumphantly. And when we
went down to the kitchen, she seemed to be right. It was in disgraceful
order, and one of the bottles of wine that had ben banished from the
dining room sat half empty on the floor.

"Drunk!" Bella said with conviction. But I didn't think so. There had
not been time enough, for one thing. Suddenly I remembered the ambulance
that had been the cause of Bella's appearance--for no one could believe
her silly story about Takahiro. I didn't wait to voice my suspicion to
her; I simply left her there, staring helplessly at the confusion, and
ran upstairs again: through the dining room, past Jimmy and Aunt Selina,
past Leila Mercer and Max, who were flirting on the stairs, up, up to
the servants' bedrooms, and there my suspicions were verified. There was
every evidence of a hasty flight; in three bedrooms five trunks stood
locked and ominous, and the closets yawned with open doors, empty. Bella
had been right; there was not a servant in the house.

As I emerged from the untidy emptiness of the servants' wing, I met Mr.
Harbison coming out of the studio.

"I wish you would let me do some of this running about for you, Mrs.
Wilson," he said gravely. "You are not well, and I can't think of
anything worse for a headache. Has the butler's illness clogged the
household machinery?"

"Worse," I replied, trying not to breathe in gasps. "I wouldn't be
running around--like this--but there is not a servant in the house! They
have gone, the entire lot."

"That's odd," he said slowly. "Gone! Are you sure?"

In reply I pointed to the servants' wing. "Trunks packed," I said
tragically, "rooms empty, kitchen and pantries, full of dishes. Did you
ever hear of anything like it?"

"Never," he asserted. "It makes me suspect--" What he suspected he did
not say; instead he turned on his heel, without a word of explanation,
and ran down the stairs. I stood staring after him, wondering if every
one in the place had gone crazy. Then I heard Betty Mercer scream and
the rest talking loud and laughing, and Mr. Harbison came up the stairs
again two at a time.

"How long has that Jap been ailing, Mrs. Wilson?" he asked.

"I--I don't know," I replied helplessly. "What is the trouble, anyh