Julius Superbus drew a long breath. The blood of his Cæsarian ancestors ran a little coldly; the pumping station under his left-hand waistcoat pocket increased its thump noisily. Again he listened. If Uncle Isaac was asleep, he would make no noise. Therefore, if there was no sound, he must be asleep. He went downstairs again. “Sleeping like an innocent child,” he reported, “one ’and under his cheek an’ a sort of smile on his face.” She took the key from his hand and looked at it. “You went in?” “Right in,” said Julius, sunning his back at the fire. “Put on the light, had a good look around.” She looked at the flat steel in her hand. “I only asked you,” she said, “because I gave you the key of The Study by mistake.” Julius was a man of infinite resource. “I’ve got a way of opening doors that’s known only to three people in the world.” “Come up with me,” she said, rising. “I’ve got a way too--I use the right key.” He walked behind her, temporarily at a disadvantage. She opened the door of Gordon’s prison quickly and snapped on the light. The room was empty. CHAPTER XVII Knotted to the bedstead was a rope. It was of amateur make, being three strips of blanket plaited together, and the rope led through the open window. Diana looked down. The end of the rope dangled less than six feet from the window-sill. He must have dropped twenty feet to the stone flags below. “That’s funny,” said Superbus, game to the last. “When I looked in----” “Let us keep to facts,” begged Diana, her youthful brows wrinkled. “What is the use of a rope if it only falls him a few feet from the sill--and why didn’t he pull the bed to the window?” She pulled the bed herself--it moved easily. The weight of a man would have drawn it across the floor. Thoughtfully she took stock of the apartment. In one corner stood a long, mirror-fronted wardrobe. Drawing her Browning, she pulled open the door. “Come out, please,” she said coldly. Gordon stepped forth with some dignity. Standing in the doorway, Mr. Superbus witnessed the astonishing spectacle and shook his head reproachfully. “Uncle Isaac, Uncle Isaac!” he said reprovingly. “I never thought you’d play a trick like that on an old friend!” “Will you kindly tell me why you destroyed my bed linen?” asked Diana, and her cool claim to the ownership of anything in the house aroused Gordon to fury. “Your bed linen is my bed linen!” he spluttered. She raised her hand. “We will not go into that matter, Uncle Isaac,” she said with freezing politeness. “Will you be kind enough to draw in the blanket and close the window? It will be light soon, and I have no wish to give the milkman a topic for discussion. I have my cousin’s interests to guard.” “Send for Bobbie,” said Gordon, suddenly quiet. “I don’t think he will have any doubt as to who I am.” “If by ‘Bobbie’ you mean Mr. Robert Selsbury,” said Diana, “I’ve already telephoned to him. He is out of town--probably decoyed away by your agents.”