Mr. Marrapit cleared his throat. The sound shot her. She caught his eye and the glance pierced her. Her outstretched hand dropped upon the cloth, toyed with crumbs. Mr. Marrapit said: “I perceive you are finished?” Margaret murmured: “Yes.” Her voice had a tremulous note. It is a bitter thing to lose a slice of bread-and-butter for which the whole system imperatively calls. “Withdraw,” Mr. Marrapit commanded. She put a lingering glance upon the loaf; wanly glided from the room. II. As she closed the door George prepared for his great idea. He drank deeply of a cup of tea; drew down his cuffs; pondered them. They were covered in pencilled notes, evolved by desperate work all that morning, to aid him when the hour was at hand. He absorbed Note I; spoke: “I am afraid last night's events very much distressed you, sir--” “They are interred. Do not resurrect them.” George hurried to Note 2. “My sympathies with you--” “Let the dead bury the dead. Mourn not the past.” George skipped to Note 3. “What I am concerned about is the cats.” “You are?” “Oh, sir, indeed I am. I am not demonstrative. Perhaps you have not guessed my fondness for the cats?” “I have not.” “Believe me, it is a deep affection. When I saw that unhappy woman tigh--under the influence of spirits, what was my first thought?” “Supply the answer.” George took another glimpse at Note 3. “What was my first thought?” he repeated. “Was it distress at sight of a woman so forgetful of her modesty? No. Was it sympathy for the cruel deception that had been practised upon you? Forgive me, sir, it was not.” (He glanced at his notes.) “What, then?” He paused brightly. “It is your conundrum,” said Mr. Marrapit. “Solve it.” George raised an impressive hand. “What, then? It was the thought of the risks that the cats I so loved had run whilst beneath the care of this woman.” Mr. Marrapit's groan inspirited George. He was on the right track. He took Note 4. “I asked myself, Who is responsible for the jeopardy in which these creatures have been placed? Heaven knows, I said, what they may not have suffered. This woman may have neglected their food, she may have neglected their comforts. In a drunken fit she might have poisoned them, beat them, set furious dogs upon them.” Mr. Marrapit writhed in anguish. George acted as Note 4 bade him. He dropped his voice. “Let us trust, sir,” he said, “that none of these things has taken place.” “Amen,” Mr. Marrapit murmured. “Amen.” George's voice took a sterner note. “But, I asked myself, Who is responsible for those horrors that might have been, that may have been?” Mr. Marrapit dropped his head upon his hands. He murmured: “I am. Peccavi.” George rose in noble calm. He read Note 5; gave it with masterly effect: “No, sir. I am.” “You!”