Mrs. Paula was gasping. "Well, I never--never--" she exclaimed, as Isabel hastily marshalled her up the stair and into the house. "I hope they'll be garroted! That's all! But it's just like the selfish beasts of men--" "What difference does it make? Didn't Lyster agree to be host? It would be too dismal for Gwynne to roam through the purlieus with a policeman--and he cannot come down often. It's bedtime, anyhow." "Bedtime?" cried Mrs. Paula. "Why, it's only ten o'clock. But I forgot that you go to bed and get up with chickens." "I should think you would be grateful to go to bed early, once in a while." "Oh, I often retire early enough, if it comes to that. It's listening half the night--all, is more like it--for the last car, and then for a hack galloping from side to side up that hill, as if the driver and the very horses were drunk themselves. I tell you it's a life!" "And don't you get used to it?" asked Isabel with curiosity. "You've been married thirteen years, and I suppose Lyster has always been what he calls an all-nighter." "There are some things a wife never gets used to," replied Paula with injured dignity, as she held out a doubting hand for the candle Isabel had lighted. "Haven't you gas or electricity?" "There is gas, but why take the trouble to light it? And the candle recalls so many delightful evenings in England. I know no prettier picture than a procession of long-trained women, with bare shoulders, and jewels in their hair, each carrying a candle up a long stair beside the central hall." "Ah! I have no such charming reminiscences of the English aristocracy, and I am only afraid of spilling candle grease on my one decent dress." XXII At four o'clock Isabel was awakened by suspicious sounds at the key-hole of the front door. She reached out for her pistol, but withdrew her hand as she heard the careless laugh of her brother-in-law. A few moments later the two explorers, after an instant's hesitation at the head of the stair--which they had climbed like cats--walked past her door with a brisk swaggering preternaturally steady gait that invoked the memory of former occupants of the mansion. Then Gwynne's door opened and shut as if by sleight of hand. Stone's was at the end of the hall. Isabel inferred that he went through it, and a sound between a hiss and a smothered roar shot down the hall as he would seem to pick up the door and bang it into place. Mr. Hofer had mentioned his luncheon hour as half-past one. Isabel had Gwynne called an hour before. She was sitting on the veranda, as he emerged. He was as well groomed as usual, but he was unmistakably pale beneath his new coat of tan. She laughed wickedly.