“Fear nothing, dearest. I have no fear myself. They will not find me. Be you but calm and resolute, and all will go well.” Again the superintendent’s imperative summons sounded through the house. Husband and wife kissed each other hurriedly; then Lionel disappeared into his hiding-place, and Edith, having made sure that no traces of his presence were visible in the room, glided downstairs, and motioned with her hand for Martha Vince to open the door. Martha undid the bolts and chains, and flung open the door. Mr. Drayton entered brusquely, followed by two of his men. The remaining two were instructed to wait outside and see that no one quitted the premises without leave. “Do you always keep your visitors waiting as long as you have kept me?” asked Mr. Drayton roughly, as he advanced into the passage. Edith came forward out of the parlour, her embroidery in her hands “Before answering your question, sir,” she said, “you will perhaps allow me to ask what your business here may be, or by what right you walk into my house without first obtaining permission to do so?” “By the right, ma’am, which the law has placed in my hands.” He spoke with more politeness this time, raising his hat as he did so. This was no servant whom he could bully and frighten at will, but a lady, as any one could see at the first glance, and one beneath whose calmly cold and slightly contemptuous scrutiny his own eyes fell abashed and self-confused. “I fail to apprehend your meaning, sir.” “I am the unfortunate bearer of a warrant authorizing me to search the premises known as Alder Cottage.” “A warrant to search my house! Do you suspect us of being smugglers?—or what?” “It is considered by those in authority that there is just a faint possibility that Mr. Lionel Dering, who lately escaped from prison, may be hidden somewhere about the place.” Edith’s little musical burst of laughter was delicious. “Do you hear that, aunty?” she called out to Mrs. Garside, who was sitting at work in the parlour. “They positively suspect poor you and me of being two conspirators, and of having Mr. Dering hidden somewhere about us—in your work-basket, aunty, or up the chimney, or under the sofa. Is it not a charming idea?” “My dear, I always told you that you were too much of a madcap,” responded Mrs. Garside as she quietly proceeded to re-thread her needle. “You must remember that, although this is supposed to be a free country, you are not allowed to laugh at the police.” “But I do so enjoy being thought a conspirator. I wish we had poor Mr. Dering under our roof, don’t you, aunty? I would give very much to know what has become of him.” Then, turning to Martha, she added, “Martha, you will please conduct these gentlemen all over the house, from garret to cellar—there must be no room held sacred from them—not even our bedrooms. And be careful that you treat them with respect.”