t sorry for Daphne.

"I am glad," said my sister, with an audacity which took my breath away.
"How splendid! So've we."

"Hurray," said Katharine, with a sincerity which would have deceived a
diplomat. "Don't you feel quite strange? I can hardly believe it's
really happened. Mine rejoices in the name of Pauline," she added.

I started violently, and Berry's jaw dropped.

"_Pauline?_" cried Daphne and Jill.

"Yes," said Katharine. "It's a queer name for a cook, but----What's the
matter?"

"But so's ours! Ours is Pauline! What's her other name?"

"Roper," cried Katharine breathlessly.

"Not from Torquay?"--in a choking voice.

Katharine nodded and put a trembling handkerchief to her lips.

"I paid her fare," she said faintly. "It came to----"

"Two pounds nine and four pence halfpenny," said my sister. "I gave her
two pounds ten."

"So did I," said Katharine. "She was to come on--on Monday."

"Six years in her last place?" said Daphne shakily

"Yes. And a clergyman's daughter," wailed Katharine.

"Did--did you take up her reference?"

"Wired last night," was the reply.

In silence I brought two chairs, and they sat down.

"But--but," stammered Jill, "she spoke from Torquay on Wednesday."

"Did she?" said Berry. "I wonder."

"Yes," said Katharine. "She did."

"You know she did," said Daphne and Jill.

"Who," said I, "answered the telephone?"

"My parlourmaid did," said Katharine.

"And Jill answered ours," said I. Then I turned to my cousin. "When you
took off the receiver," I asked, "what did you hear?"

"I remember perfectly," said Jill. "Exchange asked if we were Mayfair
9999 and then said, 'You're through to a call-office.' Then Pauline
spoke."

"Precisely," said I. "But not from Torquay. In that case Exchange would
have said, 'Torquay wants you,' or 'Exeter,' or something. Our Pauline
rang up from London. She took a risk and got away with it."

"I feel dazed," said Daphne, putting a hand to her head. "There must be
some mistake. I can't believe----"

"'A thoroughly nice-feeling woman,'" said Berry. "I think I should feel
nice if I could make five pounds in two hours by sitting on the edge of
a chair and saying I was a clergyman's daughter. And now what are we
going to do? Shall we be funny and inform the police? Or try and stop
Camille at Amiens?"

"Now, don't you start," said his wife, "because I can't bear it. Jonah,
for goodness' sake, get hold of the car, and let's go."

"Yes