The Baron acknowledged the courtesy with an appreciative grin and passed in front of McAllister, but had no sooner done so than he received a violent push into the darkness. McAllister quickly pulled and locked the heavy walnut door, then paused, breathless, listening for some sound. He hoped the feller hadn't fallen and cut his head against the tub. There was a muffled report, and a bullet sang past and buried itself in the enamelled bedstead. Bang! Another whizzed into the china on the washstand. McAllister dashed for the corridor, closing both the outer and inner means of egress. At the head of the stairs he met Wainwright. "What the devil are you fellers tryin' to do, anyway?" asked the latter. "Sounds as if you were throwin' dumb-bells at each other." McAllister lighted another cigarette. "Oh, the Baron was showing me how they do '_savate_,' that kind of boxing with their feet, don'cher know!" Chubby was entirely himself again. An unusual color suffused his ordinarily pink countenance as he joined the guests waiting for dinner. He explained ruefully that the Baron had been suddenly taken with a sharp pain in his head. It was an old trouble, he informed them, and would soon pass off. The nobleman would join the others presently--as soon as he felt able to do so. [Illustration: "I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill."] There were murmurs of regret from all sides, since Mrs. Blair had lost no time in spreading the knowledge of the distinguished foreigner's presence at the house. "Who's missing besides the Baron?" inquired Blair, counting heads. "Oh, yes, Miss Benson!" "Oh, we won't wait for Mildred! It would make her feel so awkward," responded his wife. "She and the Baron can come in together. Mr. McAllister, I believe I'm to have the pleasure of being taken in by you!" "Er--ye--es!" muttered Chubby vaguely, for at the moment he was calculating how long it would have taken that other Baron, the famous Trenk, to dig his way out of a porcelain bath-tub. "Too beastly bad about de Ville, but these French fellows, they don't have the advantage of our athletic sports to keep 'em in condition. Do you know, I hardly ever get off my peck? All due to taking regular exercise." The party made their way to the dining-room and were distributed in their various places. As McAllister was pushing in the chair of his hostess his eye fell upon a servant who was performing the same office for a lady opposite. _Could_ it be? He adjusted his monocle. There was no doubt about it. It was Wilkins. And now the detective was locked in the bath-room, and the burglar, his own double, would probably pass him the soup. "What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a _caviare hors-d'œuvre_. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole significance of the situation.