“We all obey by-laws. You are not so original as you think. For instance, I observe that you are wearing a little toque--is that the word?” “That is the word,” she agreed. “Toques are fashionable at this present moment. You are obeying the by-laws. You haven’t the courage to come out in a sky-blue tam-o’shanter with an ostrich feather because it is against the by-laws. Also I remark that your dress is very short and very full. You are not wearing a Roman toga or a Grecian gown, or even a hobble skirt. Why? Because it is against the by-laws. It is absurd to disobey one set and slavishly obey another.” “You are quaint!” was the only answer she gave. “Will you tell me, Princess?” “Don’t call me ‘Princess’ if you please,” she said quietly. “Well, will you tell me, my land-owner, what was the game with Ralph? He described you with the greatest enthusiasm by-the-way. The night you met him you were all dolled up to kill. Did you bring down your birds?” “I got him,” she admitted. She was not as bright as usual. “You are over-doing it,” said Michael; “you are trying to do too much. Your doctor would probably tell you that you ought not to commit more than one burglary a month.” She laughed softly. “You are very quaint,” she said again. “You don’t feel like making a full and frank confession, I suppose,” he suggested; “you would not like to burst into tears and sob out your young heart on my shoulder?” “That sob stuff never did agree with me.” He raised a disapproving hand. “Kate,” he said, “I have noticed a disposition in you to adopt the slang which is employed exclusively by American newspaper reporters, vaudeville artistes and other members of the criminal classes.” “I will tell you this,” she said sitting upright and looking him fully in the face, “we are going to do a big thing. The most colossal, the most daring that has ever been done and we are going to do it to-day. You want to know why I went to Flanborough’s, why I made up to that unspeakable person, Ralph Sapson? Those are my two victims. I will tell you more than this,” she said after a moment’s thought, “in order to ensure the success of my scheme I have arranged for those two gentlemen to be out of London on this bright Sabbath day. I can’t tell you any more, Mike.” “You are like a serial story, you finish off at the most interesting place,” he grumbled. His keen grey eyes searched hers and she met them fairly. “I wish you weren’t,” he said. “Weren’t what?” she asked. “In this business,” he nodded. “I wish you weren’t.”