The meek Mr. Mulberry stood by the piano, his plump fingers ranged across the keys producing a melancholy symphony. “We will now sing Hymn 847,” he said, in his melancholy oily voice and it was in the burst of laughter that this sally provoked, that Michael Pretherston took his leave, followed at a respectful distance down the stairs by Colonel Westhanger, who did not breathe freely until the front door had clanged behind his unwelcome visitor and until the oiled bolts shot home in their sockets. “Where’s Kate?” he asked on his return. “Such nonsense,” growled the elder Stockmar, “she has to the high-room gone to make scare mit Predderston.” Michael, at the far end of Crime Street, was taking leave of his assistants when there cut into the quiet night a sound almost terrifying in its unexpectedness. It could only be described as a hollow shriek which rose and fell from a wailing scream to a throaty sob. It lasted no more than ten seconds and stopped as unexpectedly as it began. “What’s that?” asked the startled sergeant. Michael scratched his chin. “The Colonel in hysterics,” he suggested callously. Nevertheless, the noise puzzled him. CHAPTER X. SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS AND FOUND A POLICEMAN Michael took the card from the uniformed constable and raised his eye-brows in surprise. “Sir Ralph Sapson,” he said, “what the dickens does he want?” The constable made no reply, for he was neither thought-reader nor inquisitive. “Show him in,” said Michael. Sir Ralph Sapson had never before called at Scotland House or showed the slightest desire to improve his acquaintance with Michael and the visit was therefore a little puzzling. Ralph bustled in, less important than usual and probably somewhat overawed by the difficulty he had experienced in reaching his objective. “I daresay you wonder why I have called,” he said. “As long as it isn’t to take me out to lunch, I don’t care,” said Michael with a laugh. “Sit down, Ralph, and tell me all your troubles. By the way,” he said as the thought occurred to him, “I suppose you are not in any kind of trouble, are you?” “That’s just it, Michael,” said the other depositing his silk hat carefully on the ground; “I am really worried over two matters and knowing what a good chap you are and how very nice you have been to me--” “Don’t be silly,” said Michael kindly, “I have not been nice to you and I am not a good chap. Have you lost something?” “I want to see you on two matters,” said Sir Ralph, who was given to preambles; “they are altogether different and one, of course, is not a police matter at all--I merely want your advice as a friend. Do you know the Princess Bacheffski?” “I don’t know Her Royal Highness, Her Serene Highness, or Her Nibs as the case may be.” “She is neither,” said the other, “she is the wife of Prince Dimitri Bacheffski, who is a large land-owner in Poland.” Michael shook his head.