The duke, still urbane, but evidently finding the situation unduly prolonged, led the way into Fay's bedroom. This story would never have been written if Lord John had not remained standing in the doorway. Did Michael know he was there? He had not so far spoken, or given any sign of his presence. "Won't you go into my room, Lord John, and help in the capture," she said distinctly; and as she spoke she was aware that she was only just in time. But Lord John would not go in, thanks. Lord John preferred to advance heavily in her direction, and to sit down by her on the couch, telling her not to look so terrified, that he would take care of her. She stared wildly at him, livid and helpless. A door was softly opened, and was instantly followed by the furious barking of a dog. "Go and help them," said Fay to Lord John. But Lord John did not move. Like all bores he was conscious of his own attractive personality. He only settled his eyeglass more firmly in his pale eye. "You never spoke to me all evening," he said, with jocular emphasis. "What have I done to deserve such severity?" In another moment the duke and the official returned, followed by Sancho, a large Bridlington terrier, still bristling and snarling at the official. Fay called the dog to her, and held it forcibly, pretending to caress it. "No one has gone by that way," said the _delegato_ to the duke. "The dog proves that." "Sancho proves it," said the duke gravely. As he spoke he paused as if suddenly arrested. His eyes were fixed on a small Florentine mirror which hung over Fay's writing-table in the angle of the wall. The duke's face changed, as a man's face might change, who, conscious of no enemy, feels himself stabbed from behind in the dark. Then he came forward, and said with a firm voice: "We will now go once more into the gardens. Lord John, you will accompany us." Lord John got heavily to his feet. "Take Sancho with you," said Fay, holding the dog with difficulty, who was obviously excited and suspicious, its mobile nostrils working, its eyes glued to the screen. The duke opened the glass door, and Sancho, his attention turned, rushed out into the night, barking furiously. "You need have no further fear," said the duke to Fay, looking into her eyes. "The assassin has certainly escaped." "No doubt," said Fay. "Unless he is hiding behind the screen all the time," said Lord John, with his customary facetiousness. "It is about the only place in the room he could hide in, except of course the wastepaper basket." The _delegato_, who was not apparently a man who quickly seized the humorous side of a remark, at once stepped back from the window, and glanced at the wastepaper basket. "I may as well look behind the screen," he said, and went towards it. But before he could reach it the screen moved, and Michael came out from behind it.