“Naughty, naughty!” he chided. “That’s not like my Uncle Isaac. And he’s been such a good boy, ma’am, singing as gay as a lark.” Gordon blushed. “I didn’t sing, you jackass!” he growled. “Didn’t he sing, Aunt Lizzie?” She shrugged indifferent shoulders. “Well, if he didn’t sing he ’ummed,” insisted Mr. Superbus. His repertoire on the mouth-organ included the Eton Boating Song--Gordon was an old Etonian. Doubtless he had ’ummed: no Etonian could resist the lilt of it. “To bed,” said Diana curtly. Swinging her keys, she had the appearance of a jailer. “You will regret this,” said Gordon between his teeth. “I can bring a thousand people to identify me.” “And how many to identify Aunt Lizzie?” asked Diana with a curl of her lips. Gordon had no answer. She had the exasperating habit of shutting every door in his face, dispelling every wild vision of liberty that hope conjured to shape. Heloise was not silenced. “Why, that’s not going to be difficult,” she drawled. “I’m Mrs. van Oynne of 71 Clarence Gate Gardens.” “Very good,” nodded Diana. “You are at liberty to telephone to the police and allow them to identify you. I’ll tell them that by an error I have mistaken you for Double Dan’s--what is the word? partners? They will put things right.” Heloise got up. “I was never strong for fighting,” she said. “I’m going to bed.” Diana led the way, Gordon came after, Mr. Superbus followed, emitting soft tuning noises from his mouth-organ. Were it in his repertoire, Gordon would have selected “The Death of Asa” as an appropriate accompaniment to that solemn march. He imagined himself a malefactor on his way to execution. Diana had the air of hangman and private torturer. “Good-night,” he said mechanically, and stopped at the door of his room. “Not in there!” Her loud whisper was threatening. He followed to the floor above. The room chosen was that in which Diana said she intended sleeping the man and wife who were to be engaged for the autumn cleaning. Heloise went in--she knew the room. “Good-night,” she said. “You have forgotten something,” said Diana. “If you think I’m going to kiss you, there’s a surprise coming to you, girl,” said Heloise, and tried to shut the door. “Your husband,” said Diana primitively. The door slammed, Diana heard a chair dragged across the room, and guessed that the back of it was being propped under the handle. Gordon’s throat went dry. “You have quarrelled?” said Diana. “Or perhaps you don’t....” “I don’t!” The voice came from his stomach--he had never suspected such a range of sound in himself. “That’s very awkward.” She tapped her lips with a key. “You’ll have to go into the spare room. Come down.” The spare room was at the far end of the passage and the bed had not been made up. “There are the blankets,” said Diana and pointed. “To-morrow I will find sheets for you. The bed is more comfortable than any you’ll find at the police station.” She locked the door on him.