“The wine cellars are closed. I don’t want the bother of unlocking them--and I never drink.” “Cloos,” said Julius loudly. “Oh! I thought you said ... well, find some.” Bent double, he prowled round the room. Diana ate biscuits ravenously. “Somebody has been here,” he pointed to the big chair near the fireplace. “Look at that cushion--there’s the mark of a head.” “Mine,” she was laconic, a trifle unkind. “Look for cigar-ash, my dear Watson!” He eyed her with a certain amount of suspicion which was largely justified. “Come and eat,” she said, and dropped the biscuit tin within reach. “Now how on earth did he get out?” “Who?” “Doub--Uncle Isaac.” She corrected her error instantly. Julius could afford to smile. “He didn’t get out. I’ve never left my post, ma’am. My own theory is that it was a burglar.” “How did he leave the house?” she asked. “The front door is still chained and bolted. He must still be in the house.” “Don’t say that, miss--ma’am,” begged Julius nervously. “If he was in this house I wouldn’t be responsible for myself. I go mad when I see burglars--that’s why the doctor ordered me to keep away from ’em.” “He’s in the house; probably hiding in the kitchen. Have some biscuits; when I’ve finished my tea we’ll go look for him.” Julius had no appetite. “This is a case for the regular police,” he said earnestly. “They’re paid for it, anyway. The Government supports their widows. Besides,” unselfishly, “they get promotion for capturing burglars. I believe in doing somebody a good turn whenever I can. Shall I get a copper?” She motioned him to remain. “Stay here: I will look.” He refused to stay. His place was by her side and a little behind her. He liked the way she handled that Browning. She seemed the kind of woman who would stand no nonsense. The kitchen drew blank. “I never thought he was here,” she said. “No, it was Uncle Isaac.” Mr. Superbus, back in The Study, propounded a startling theory. “There’s such things as subterranean passages,” he said. “I’ve seen ’em. You push back a panel and there’s a flight of stairs, leading to an underground vault. You touch a spring----” “There are no springs to be touched at 61 Cheynel Gardens,” she said, “and no panels, and no underground vaults except the cellar where the furnace is. Go down and satisfy yourself.” Mr. Superbus countered graciously that her word was sufficient. The hour was a quarter after four o’clock. Mr. Superbus lit the fire, going very slowly down to the kitchen to find the kindling wood, and coming very swiftly up again. His teeth were chattering: it was very chilly in the kitchen, he said. “There was nothing to hurt you in the kitchen,” she said. Julius was amused. “Hurt _me_? I’d like to see the thing that tried it on! I don’t know what fear is, ma’am. All our family is that way. My brother Augustus walks through a churchyard every night from the Duchesses’ Arms----” “Does she know him so well--how odd!” she said.