As usual, Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson--or as all her friends called her, Jessica--entertained her theater guests at supper at her house in Cavendish Square after the performance. Both she and Stapleton expected that La Planta would put in an appearance there, but he did not. It was quite a big supper-party, for people kept arriving in cars until past one o’clock, so that when at last it came to an end, the guests grouped about the card tables in the room adjoining, playing “chemmy” and other games, numbered over thirty. “What can have become of him?” Jessica said to Stapleton in an undertone as she drew him aside. “And without his hat, too. I can’t imagine where he can have gone, or who it can have been who inquired for me. Archie ought to have told me!” “I have telephoned twice to the Albany, but can get no reply.” “You wouldn’t, at this time of the night.” “Why not? He has an extension to his man’s bedroom.” “Then do ring again, Louie. I am anxious about him.” This time Stapleton was more successful, for after two futile attempts the operator got through, and a sleepy, rather irritated voice asked huskily: “Hello! hello! Who is that ringing?” “It’s Mr. Stapleton, James. I am sorry to wake you up, but can you tell me if Mr. La Planta has come in?” “If you will please to hold on, sir,” the voice replied in a different tone, “I will ascertain and let you know.” For some minutes Stapleton waited with the receiver glued to his ear. He was beginning to think the man had gone to sleep again, when suddenly he heard him returning. He sounded as if he were running. “Are you there, sir?” “Yes.” “Mr. La Planta is lying on his sofa, sir, fast asleep. I’ve called him and shaken him, but he won’t wake up. The light in his room was full on. He must have been drugged or something. He is breathing very heavy, very heavy indeed, sir. I’m going to ring up the doctor.” “No, don’t do that. I’ll come round at once and see him; the doctor may not be wanted. Be ready to let me in as soon as I arrive.” The card-players still grouped about the little tables were busy with their games. In a small room beyond the drawing-room could be heard the rattle of the little marble as it spun merrily round in the well of the roulette, and a voice murmuring at intervals: “_Faites vos jeux_,” and “_Rien n’ va plus_.” Jessica came forward as she saw him approaching. “Come into the hall,” he said in a low tone, “and I will tell you.” In a few words he explained to her what had happened. “Don’t be alarmed,” he ended. “I will go there now, and will ring you up and report progress.” Taxis were waiting in Cavendish Square, and within five minutes he alighted at the Albany. La Planta’s face was very pale. He lay with lips slightly parted, breathing heavily. His eyelids were but half closed, and though Stapleton drew one of them up, the sleeper did not awake. “Obviously doped,” he said to James, who stood by with a frightened look.