Somewhat disconcerted at Wilfrid’s guessing his intention, and uneasy, too, at his air of unconcern, the Ambassador called out: “Come in.” At the summons there trooped in five athletic men, lackeys apparently. Their attire, consisting of shirt and breeches only, showed that they had been hastily roused from sleep. They advanced a little way into the room, and then stood still, awaiting orders. Wondering what the trouble was about, they glanced alternately from the flushed uncle to the cool nephew. “This madman,” said Lord St. Helens, indicating Wilfrid, who bowed sarcastically, “my nephew, I regret to say, is an enemy to Great Britain. In the name of the King, I call upon you to arrest him and to take him to the Green Chamber, where he must remain till he has renounced his treasonable designs. Sorry, Wilfrid, my boy,” he added, in a side whisper; “but I’ve no other course. Go quietly, like a sensible fellow,” he added, as he saw the fighting spirit gleam from Wilfrid’s eye. “You can’t contend against five men.” But Wilfrid, having formed his plan, proceeded to act. The only light in the room came from the six tapers in the chandelier above his head. As the five men moved slowly forward, Wilfrid, with one swift bound, sprang aloft and hung his whole weight upon the chandelier. Down it came in an instant, and almost before it reached the floor he had extinguished the six lights by the easy process of flinging the table-cloth over them. By this action, the work of not more than four seconds, the room was plunged into sudden darkness. “Look to the door,” screamed the Ambassador. Tumbling over each other in their haste the five raced back, and ranged themselves in fighting order before the door, the only exit from the room. In the dead silence that followed, the Ambassador and his satellites strained eye and ear, endeavouring to discover by sight or sound what Wilfrid’s next movement would be. They had not long to wait. From the far end of the apartment there suddenly darted intermittent rays of light, apparently caused by the wavering of a heavy curtain that draped one of the windows overlooking the canal. Simultaneously all were seized with the same idea. Wilfrid was going to— Crash! The sound was like that of a sheet of glass shivered to atoms by the impact of a heavy body, and was instantly followed by the splash of water. “Good God! He’s leaped into the Fontanka, through glass and all,” cried the Ambassador. Men falling into that shallow canal have been known never to rise again from its deep deposit of mud! The Ambassador ran to the window, thrusting the heavy curtain on one side. Moved by a common impulse, the five men ran too. The Ambassador unfastened the catch, flung open the window, and, with his body half out, looked down upon the water, whose surface had upon it a rippling ring that grew wider and wider each moment, a ring obviously caused by the fall of a body.