"Now," said Daphne. "You won't pay this money as a matter of principle, and Viv won't, for the same reason. I won't because I haven't got it: Madge probably ditto. But it must be paid. Have you got it in the house?" Poppy nodded. "In notes?" "Yes." "Where?" "In my jewel case." "Very well. Now," said Daphne, "Madge and I are going to fix this thing up. You are not to know anything about it. You can swear to that later on, if the question comes up. Is there any place in your studio where you keep money?" "In the table drawer." "Very well. To-night before you go to bed put that money there. Early to-morrow morning send a maid to the drawer. If, by any chance, it is not there, send for the police." Poppy was sitting up in bed, her eyes narrowed. "The door of that wing is always locked. Viv has one key; I have the other." "Never mind about the keys," said Daphne, loftily. "Now lie back and take a nap. Madge and I are going to look at the new picture. And I'm taking Madge home to dinner. I want her to go with me to the Edgware Road meeting to-night." We did not look at the picture very long. Daphne's lips were shut tight, and I was feeling very queer. I knew what Daphne meant to do--to have the exact amount of Poppy's tax stolen from the table, and reported to the police. And later on in the day to have it sent to the tax office in Poppy's name. Poppy could swear she had not done it and point to the robbery. But by that time it would be credited to her name, and Viv would be free. "It's a knot," said Daphne, running her fingers through her hair. "It's past un-tying. We have to cut it." I know it sounds silly now and father has advised me never to tell mother, but it seemed the only thing at the time. Here were Viv and Poppy at an _impasse_, as one may say, and things getting worse every day--Viv on a hunger strike, and Poppy's work waiting, and the vote, which was our natural solution, as far off as ever. "I'll unlock a window in Viv's study," said Daphne, "and you can come back after midnight and crawl in. I'd do it, but I'm too fat. Once in, you've only to go up the little staircase to the studio, and get the money. The key's always in the side door. You can let yourself out." "But I don't like it, Daphne." "A broken window," said Daphne, "would look a lot better. More natural, you know. Here, hold a pillow." She raised one of Viv's windows a little--we were in his study--and she put her arm outside, with a paper weight in her hand. A smart tap, and a pane fell in on my pillow. We listened but no servants had come running and the house next door was closed and shuttered. Daphne is very clever. She unlocked the window, drew the shade as it had been before, and put the glass in a little heap on the floor. The area was outside, about five feet below. "I could never do it," I protested. "I--I haven't your courage, Daffie. Be a dear and do it yourself."