A voice came out of the fog that had thickened to a wall between the rooms—a voice, thin, remote, like a trunk call— “_Can’t_ you keep that door shut, Jenny? The draught——” and was cut off again by the sudden crash of an overturned chair. There was a rush and a cry—a madman’s voice, shouting, screaming, groaning— “Madala Grey! My God, Madala Grey!” and Kent’s huge body, hurling against the door, pitched and fell heavily. For the door was shut. I ran to him. He was shaken and half stunned, but he struggled to his feet. It was dreadful to see him. He was like a frightened horse, shivering and sweating. His lips were loose and he muttered unevenly as if the words came without his will. I caught them as I helped him; the same words—always the same words. I got him to the sofa while the rest of them crowded and clamoured, and then I found myself taking command. I made them keep off. I sent Anita for water and a towel and I bathed his forehead where he had cut it on the moulding of the door. Mr. Flood wanted to send for a doctor, but I wouldn’t have it. I knew how he would hate it. Then someone—the Baxter girl, I think—giggled hysterically and said something about a black eye tomorrow, and then—“How did it happen?” “Did you see, Miss Summer?” And at that they all began to clamour again like an orchestra after a solo, repeating in all their voices—“Yes, what happened? What on earth was it? Did you see him? Some sort of a seizure? I told you twice to shut that door. The draught——Are you better now, old man? Kent—what happened?” They were crowding round him again. He pointed a shaking finger. “She saw,” he said. “She knows——” “Jenny?” Anita turned on me sharply, an employer addressing a servant at fault. “Oh, of course—you were in here too. What happened then?” I had a helpless moment. “Well?” she demanded. I stared at her. It was incredible, but there was actually jealousy in her voice. It said, pitifully plainly—‘Again I have missed the centre of a situation!’ “Well?” she repeated. And then—“If you saw something——” She altered the phrase—“Tell us what you saw.” But I had not missed the quick fear that had shown, for a moment, in Kent’s eyes—fear of betrayal even while his tongue was betraying him. I laughed. I thought to myself as I answered, ‘Oh, I am doing this beautifully!’ And I was. My voice sounded perfectly natural, not a bit high. I had plenty of words. I said, most jauntily— “Oh, Cousin Nita, I could hardly see my own nose. The fog had been simply pouring in. My fault—I didn’t latch the door properly, I suppose. And then you called, and Mr. Rehan went to shut it for me, and he slithered on the mat, and——” “I see!” “Of course! Parquet——” The Baxter girl took a step or two and pirouetted back to us. “Perfect! You ought to give a dance, Miss Serle.”