There was no reply. He rang again and tapped the wire. There was still silence. Then he replaced the receiver upon the instrument and stood for a moment in the little room, thinking. There was no doubt but that he had simply followed Suzanne into a trap. He rapidly reviewed in his memory the guests. Lady Marsham, it was well known, had been educated in Berlin and had German relatives. Barracombe wore an order conferred upon him by the Kaiser. Steinletter belonged to the greatest German-American banking firm in the world. Kindersley's daughter had married an Austrian prince. Suzanne had succeeded, then, in this last quest of hers, a success which, although inadvertently, he might be said to share. They had in all probability discovered the headquarters of the great Teutonic espionage system in England. How was it going to profit them? His mind rapidly reviewed the situation. They were prisoners--of that he was certain--yet to what extent? How far was Silburn prepared to go? It was, after all, rather an opera-bouffe sort of trap. If they were caught, there was still the question of silencing them. Then he thought of that abstracted revolver, and a queer little wave of apprehension, not for himself but for Suzanne, suddenly chilled him. He made his way back into the hall. The rubber was just over and he leaned boldly over the chair in which Suzanne was seated. 'Come and talk to me for a few minutes,' he begged. She hesitated. Mr. Silburn, who was playing idly with the cards, glanced at the clock and back again. 'At half-past ten,' he announced, 'in ten minutes, that is to say, we all meet in the cloister room. It is a queer custom, perhaps, but my guests have been kind in conforming to it.' 'Prayers?' Lavendale inquired. 'Not a bad name for our few minutes' serious diversion,' Mr. Silburn remarked dryly. Lavendale led Suzanne towards a couch at the further end of the hall. He laid his hand upon hers and found it as cold as ice. 'Suzanne,' he said quietly, 'are we in a trap?' 'I believe we are,' she answered. 'It is entirely my fault. I have never been so foolish before in my life. I have always had people behind me who have known my whereabouts and who could come to the rescue, if necessary. This time I told no one. I was selfish. I wanted the whole credit. But tell me of yourself--how you came here?' 'It was just the merest chance,' he replied. 'Silburn had asked me to shoot here, and then you half told me where you were, over the telephone. I think that the rest must have been instinct. You haven't told me yet, though, how you found your way here?'