o sure," Bernadine replied. "There are secrets about this
house which have not yet been disclosed to you. There are means, my dear
Baron, of transporting you into a world where you are likely to do much
less harm than here, means ready at hand which would leave no more trace
behind than those crumbling ashes can tell of the coal-mine from which
they came."

Peter preserved his attitude of bland incredulity.

"Listen," he said, drawing a whistle from his pocket, "it is just
possible that you are in earnest. I will bet you, then, if you like, a
hundred pounds, that if I blow this whistle you will either have to open
your door within five minutes or find your house invaded by the police."

No one spoke for several moments. The veins were standing out upon
Bernadine's forehead.

"We have had enough of this folly," he cried. "If you refuse to realise
your position, so much the worse for you. Blow your whistle, if you
will. I am content."

Peter waited for no second bidding. He raised the whistle to his lips
and blew it, loudly and persistently. Again there was silence. Bernadine
mocked him.

"Try once more, dear Baron," he advised. "Your friends are perhaps a
little hard of hearing. Try once more, and when you have finished, you
and I and the Marquis de Sogrange will find our way once more to the
gun-room and conclude that trifling matter of business which brought you
here."

Again Peter blew his whistle and again the silence was broken only by
Bernadine's laugh. Suddenly, however, that laugh was checked. Everyone
had turned toward the door, listening. A bell was ringing throughout the
house.

"It is the front door," one of the servants exclaimed.

No one moved. As though to put the matter beyond doubt, there was a
steady knocking to be heard from the same direction.

"It is a telegram or some late caller," Bernadine declared, hoarsely.
"Answer it, Carl. If anyone would speak with the Baroness, she is
indisposed and unable to receive. If anyone desires me, I am here."

The man left the room. They heard him withdraw the chain from the door.
Bernadine wiped the sweat from his forehead as he listened. He still
gripped the revolver in his hand. Peter had changed his position a
little, and was standing now behind a high-backed chair. They heard the
door creak open, a voice outside, and presently the tramp of heavy
footsteps. Peter nodded understandingly.

"It is exactly as I told you," he said. "You were wise not t