"I have no jewels! For God's sake, listen to me! There is some dreadful mistake." "That's enough of that. Penfold, strip her. I daresay you can manage her single-handed; but if you want assistance, I shall be happy to give you mine." The virago, addressed as Penfold, grinned, not agreeably. "I sha'n't want assistance, not with the likes of her. I can handle her as easy as if she was a baby." CHAPTER IV.--OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN Penfold proceeded to put her words to the proof. Without any sort of warning, she took Edith by the throat, and, advancing her foot, tripped her over on to the floor with an ease which was positively ludicrous. And, having got her down, choking her with one huge hand, while with the other she began to tear her clothes from off her with as scant formality as she might have plucked the feathers from a fowl, Edith made not the slightest attempt at resistance. Not only was there no fight left in her, but she was being throttled. If that iron grasp about her slender throat was not soon relaxed, she would, ere long, become a runaway wife indeed, and for ever. Before, however, that consummation had been achieved, and she was actually and finally throttled, a diversion was caused by the unceremonious entrance of still another woman, who was holding a paper in her hand. Without any sort of prelude she addressed herself to all and sundry. "Clara Harvey's been too much for us. She's declined to swallow the bait we offered her, she saw the hook behind it, as I expected she would. She's given us the slip, and apparently got clean away, because she's had the impudence to send me this telegram." The new-comer read aloud from the piece of paper she was holding, which was now seen to be a telegraph form. "So sorry cannot accept kind invitation to come to town. Have business engagement, which I am now starting to fill. Good-bye, dearest, in case I should not see you again for very long time, which fear I sha'n't. Say good-bye for me to the other dears. Hope dear Mary won't suffer much, but we have all of us to be in trouble in our turn. Best love.--CLARA." The reading of this curiously and extravagantly-worded telegram, was followed by a chorus of exclamations. "What nonsense are you talking?" "What are you reading from?" "Who's been kidding you?" "Clara's here!" It was the new-comer's turn to exclaim. "Clara's here? Where?" "Here!" Her attention was directed to the figure of Mrs Bankes, who was still recumbent on the floor, though fortunately Penfold had somewhat softened the vigour of her attentions. The new-comer stared at the prostrate lady. "Clara! That's not Clara!" "Not Clara? Don't talk rubbish! It's her, right enough!" "I don't know who that is, and I don't know what you're playing off on me, but I do know that's not Clara Harvey. I've known her pretty well all my life; if I don't know her, I don't know who does, and I tell you that's no more Clara Harvey than I am."