Justin marvelled at Chelda's self-possession. In icy dignity and haughtiness she stood in the centre of the room, confronting a man who was an embodiment of enraged and speechless vulgarity. Behind him lurked the chief of police of the town, looking slightly ashamed of himself, and throwing an apologetic glance toward Justin. H. Robinson had no time for civilities to-day, and he was much too angry to be overawed by Chelda. "Where is that man?" he gasped, after a time. Chelda in superb disdain looked over his head at the chief of police. How much did he know? He knew but little. With professional jealousy and contrariety H. Robinson had kept the main part of his secret to himself. He had, moreover, been bullying his partial colleague. Chelda knew it by the sulky expression of her fellow townsman. "Good morning, Mr. Gordon," she said, cuttingly ignoring the remark just made to her. "Will you not sit down? Mr. Mercer will entertain you while I talk to this--this--" She hesitated, and her hesitation and failure to characterise her caller were more stinging than any spoken words could have been. "Will you follow me?" she went on, loftily, and she swept from the room. H. Robinson thought it better to obey her, and with a furious backward glance at the chief of police, who was snickering openly, he clumsily endeavoured to keep off the train of her gown as she ushered him into the dining-room. "You had better get yourself something to drink," she said, waving him toward the sideboard. He laid his hand on a silver tankard, and his small eyes rolled menacingly at her over the glass he raised to his lips. "Where is Lancaster?" he ejaculated, as he set it down. "You are very foolish to mention names." He with difficulty withdrew a paper tightly wedged in his pocket. "I'm at the end of my patience,--it's only out of respect to the family we come quietly like this. Where is our prisoner?" "Not here." "He's in this house, or mighty near it. He might have been nabbed this morning if it hadn't been for that blatherskite in there. He come on the train. He ain't left. You've got to give him up. Two minutes to decide. I've got a patrolman outside. It won't take the three of us long to go over this house. You can't resist law, young woman." "Do you really expect that Mr. Lancaster is in this house?" "Oh, come off the roof!" he said, wrathfully. "You can't fool me. The old woman game won't work." "Is it that poor old woman you are suspecting?" "That poor old woman! Blankety blank, yes. I'm going for the chief. The two minutes are up." "Wait one instant. My aunt and her friends are walking in the wood. You had better go find them and ascertain for yourself that the old woman is a veritable old woman." The detective smote the table with his fist. "Is that true? You ain't foolin',--they're actually out of the house?" "It is quite true." H. Robinson lost control of himself, and began to swear fluently and to blindly search for the door.