Just as I reached the door, one of them collapsed, and the other, breaking free, leaped wildly for the head of the banisters. I was after him at once, and we went down that staircase in a way that would have put the fear of God into a couple of chamois. If the front door had been locked, I should have had him. As it was, he just got it open in time, and taking the steps with a flying jump, landed clear on the pavement outside. With a last effort, I hurled my poker at him through the gate, only missing him by the merest fraction. Then he was off, bolting down the street like a rabbit, and vanishing round the corner before you could count five. CHAPTER IX I walked out into the roadway and picked up my weapon. Except for a solitary cat, scratching herself under the opposite lamp, Park Lane was absolutely deserted. As I stood for a moment, staring up and down the long, brilliantly-lit thoroughfare, I heard a neighbouring clock strike three. I am not a person who gives up very easily, especially when I'm annoyed, but, dressed as I was, any further pursuit was out of the question. To dash down Piccadilly at this hour of the night, clad only in pyjamas and a poker, was to court a publicity that I was only too anxious to avoid. So, after a slight shiver, for my bare feet were beginning to get unpleasantly cold, I retraced my steps into the house. As I closed the door, I heard a kind of stifled sob from the back of the hall, and looking up, I saw in the dim light two women crouching against the banisters. They were both in their night-dresses, and one of them, whom I recognised as the parlour-maid, had her hair streaming down over her shoulders. Very pretty hair it was, too. "It's all right," I said comfortingly. "Nobody's hurt." The elder of the two women--the cook, I suppose--burst into a torrent of hysterical relief. "Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Northcote! Oh dear, oh dear! We thought you were all killed!" "Not a bit of it," I said. "Go and put something on, and find out what's the matter with the electric light." My brisk and cheerful manner had the desired effect. Both women stopped sobbing, and letting go each other's hands, rose unsteadily to their feet. The parlour-maid even found time to blush. There were two candles flickering away on the hall table, and taking one of them, I hastily mounted the stairs. As I came up, I heard the sound of voices, and, reaching the landing, I found the faithful Milford apparently engaged in a wrestling match with a woman dressed as a nurse. When he saw me, he gave a sort of gulp, and sat down abruptly on an oak chest behind him. "Well, Milford," I said severely, "this is nice behaviour for an invalid!" He caught at the wall to steady himself, and I saw that the front of his night-dress was stained with blood. "Are you hurt?" I asked quickly. He shook his head. "No, no, sir; I'm all right. It was the other man--he was bleeding in the face."