She did not reply, but, turning to the left, threw open a door and disappeared into the room beyond. I followed ruthlessly, but stopped just over the threshold to catch my breath in astonishment. I was in "my lady's bed-chamber." The immense Gothic bed stood on its dais, imposing in its isolation. Three or four very modern innovation trunks loomed like minarets against the opposite walls, half-open; one's imagination might have been excused if it conjured up sentries who stood ready to pop out of the trunks to scare one half to death. Some of my most precious rugs adorned the floor, but the windows were absolutely undraped. There were a few old chairs scattered about, but no other article of furniture except an improvised wash-stand, and a clumsy, portable tin bath-tub which leaned nonchalantly against the foot of the bed. There were great mirrors, in the wall at one end of the room, cracked and scaly it is true, but capable of reflecting one's presence. "Don't stand there gaping," she cried in a shrill whisper, starting across the room only to turn aside with a sharp exclamation. "That stupid Helene!" she cried, flushing warmly. Catching up a heap of tumbled garments, mostly white, from a chair, she recklessly hurled them behind the bed. "This is the mirror--the middle one. It opens by means of a spring. There is a small hole in the wall behind it and then there is still another secret door beyond that, a thick iron one with the sixth Baron Rothhoefen's portrait on the outer side of it. The canvas swings open. We must--" I was beginning to get my bearings. "The sixth baron? Old Ludwig the Red?" "The very one." "Then, by Jove, he is in my study! You don't mean to say--" "Please don't stop to talk," she cried impatiently, looking about in a distracted manner, "but for goodness sake get something to put against this mirror." My mind worked rapidly. The only object in the room heavy enough to serve as a barricade was the bed, and it was too heavy for me to move, I feared. I suggested it, of course, involuntarily lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Pull it over, quick!" she commanded promptly. "Perhaps I'd better run out and get Max and Ru--" "If my hus--if Mr. Pless should open that secret door from the other side, Mr. Smart, it will be very embarrassing for you and me, let--" I put my shoulder to the huge creaky bed and shoved. There were no castors. It did not budge. The Countess assisted me by putting the tips of her small fingers against one end of it and pushing. It was not what one would call a frantic effort on her part, but it served to make me exert myself to the utmost. I, a big strong man, couldn't afford to have a slim countess pushing a bedstead about while I was there to do it for her. "Don't do that," I protested. "I can manage it alone, thank you." I secured a strong grip on the bottom of the thing and heaved manfully. "You might let me help," she cried, firmly grasping a side piece with both hands.