The blow under the chin had temporarily dulled Jimmy's mentality. He stood, swallowing and endeavouring to pull himself together and to get rid of a feeling that his head was about to come off. He backed to the desk and steadied himself against it. As he did so, a voice from behind him spoke. "Whassall this?" He turned his head. A curious procession was filing in through the open French window. First came Mr. Crocker, still wearing his hideous mask; then a heavily bearded individual with round spectacles, who looked like an automobile coming through a haystack; then Ogden Ford, and finally a sturdy, determined-looking woman with glittering but poorly co-ordinated eyes, who held a large revolver in her unshaking right hand and looked the very embodiment of the modern female who will stand no nonsense. It was part of the nightmare-like atmosphere which seemed to brood inexorably over this particular night that this person looked to Jimmy exactly like the parlour-maid who had come to him in this room in answer to the bell and who had sent his father to him. Yet how could it be she? Jimmy knew little of the habits of parlour-maids, but surely they did not wander about with revolvers in the small hours? While he endeavoured feverishly to find reason in this chaos, the door opened and a motley crowd, roused from sleep by the cries, poured in. Jimmy, turning his head back again to attend to this invasion, perceived Mrs. Pett, Ann, two or three of the geniuses, and Willie Partridge, in various stages of _negligee_ and babbling questions. The woman with the pistol, assuming instant and unquestioned domination of the assembly, snapped out an order. "Shutatdoor!" Somebody shut the door. "Now, whassall this?" she said, turning to Gentleman Jack. CHAPTER XXIII STIRRING TIMES FOR THE PETTS Gentleman Jack had lowered his revolver, and was standing waiting to explain all, with the insufferable look of the man who is just going to say that he has only done his duty and requires no thanks. "Who are you?" he said. "Nev' min' who I am!" said Miss Trimble curtly. "Siz Pett knows who I am." "I hope you won't be offended, Lord Wisbeach," said Mrs. Pett from the group by the door. "I engaged a detective to help you. I really thought you could not manage everything by yourself. I hope you do not mind." "Not at all, Mrs. Pett. Very wise." "I'm so glad to hear you say so." "An excellent move." Miss Trimble broke in on these amiable exchanges. "Whassall this? Howjer mean--help me?" "Lord Wisbeach most kindly offered to do all he could to protect my nephew's explosive," said Mrs. Pett. Gentleman Jack smiled modestly. "I hope I have been of some slight assistance! I think I came down in the nick of time. Look!" He pointed to the safe. "He had just got it open! Luckily I had my pistol with me. I covered him, and called for help. In another moment he would have got away."