“Go there,” the Russian commanded. “And do exactly what you did that night. Observe what you observed that night and report to us from the corridor what you see.” Without waiting for the Count to leave, the Russian turned to the Countess and the younger Breese. “You two were upstairs in your rooms. Will you please go there now and come down when the butler calls you, as he called you that night?” “Look here,” the boy protested, “what’s the sense of it?” “I assure you,” said the Russian, “I would not dream of subjecting you to this ordeal if it were not extremely necessary.” The boy shrugged his shoulders and followed his sister out of the room. “It is good they are not here to watch everything,” the Russian commented as they left. “I wish to spare them pain.” He turned to the father. “You, Mr. Breese, go out into the street, and enter as you did last night. You have your key?” “Yes,” said Breese. “But why the devil should I?” “Because you wish to clear your name,” said the Russian. “I beg of you to do this for your own sake. I have only half an hour. It goes very quickly. Come!” Reluctantly Breese left the room. “Now,” said the Russian, “I shall take the part of Mrs. Breese. You, Mr. Thomas, were in this room with her. You remain here.” He looked at the actor quizzically. “You should find this work easy. It is your profession.” Then he raised his voice to its terrific boom: “All of you, everywhere. It is nine o’clock. We begin!” Then he stared at Rice. “I had quite forgotten you, Mr. Rice. You were at the American Minister’s at the time. Very well then. We shall call the library the Ministry. You shall wait there.” Rice good-naturedly nodded, and passed into the library. “Now,” said the Russian to Thomas. “I am Mrs. Breese. We are talking together. What is it you say to me?” “Hang it all,” cried the actor. “I can’t remember.” “Say something--anything,” commanded the Russian sharply. “Tell me you’re going back to the States to marry another girl. I get quite angry. I storm at you, don’t I?” “Yes,” the actor swallowed. “That is better,” commented the Russian, stepping out of his rôle. “You actually quarrelled with Mrs. Breese.” “But--but--” stammered the actor. The Russian held up his hand. “Play your part!” he commanded. “You are an execrable actor. I say to you: ‘You have deceived me. I love you.’ And you say to me----” The actor shifted uncomfortably. “What is it you say to me?” “Hang it all,” he began. “You say nothing. You storm out of the room. You run upstairs. Go!” Thomas fled from the room. It was really very funny, but none of us laughed. The Russian had us in his grip. “You see,” said the Russian, “this is what actually happened. Thomas told us fairy tales.” He snorted. “As if Mrs. Breese would calmly consent to his jilting her.” He turned to the door. “Count!” he cried. “You are in the corridor. What do you see?” “I see Mr. Breese coming toward the drawing-room.”