My Lady wrung her hands. “Discovered!” she groaned. “Yet no--he is one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it bide its time!” “Reveal what not?” her husband testily replied, dragging out the sheet of brown paper. “What are you hiding here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!” My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest of little voices. “Don't make fun of it, Benjamin!” she pleaded. “It's--it's---don't you understand? It's a DAGGER!” “And what's that for?” sneered His Excellency. “We've only got to make people think he's dead! We haven't got to kill him! And made of tin, too!” he snarled, contemptuously bending the blade round his thumb. “Now, Madam, you'll be good enough to explain. First, what do you call me Benjamin for?” “It's part of the Conspiracy, Love! One must have an alias, you know--” “Oh, an alias, is it? Well! And next, what did you get this dagger for? Come, no evasions! You ca'n't deceive me!” “I got it for--for--for--” the detected Conspirator stammered, trying her best to put on the assassin-expression that she had been practising at the looking-glass. “For--” “For what, Madam!” “Well, for eighteenpence, if you must know, dearest! That's what I got it for, on my--” “Now don't say your Word and Honour!” groaned the other Conspirator. “Why, they aren't worth half the money, put together!” “On my birthday,” my Lady concluded in a meek whisper. “One must have a dagger, you know. It's part of the--” “Oh, don't talk of Conspiracies!” her husband savagely interrupted, as he tossed the dagger into the cupboard. “You know about as much how to manage a Conspiracy as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get a disguise. Now, just look at this!” And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and bells, and the rest of the Fool's dress, and winked at her, and put his tongue in his cheek. “Is that the sort of thing, now.” he demanded. My Lady's eyes flashed with all a Conspirator's enthusiasm. “The very thing!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You do look, oh, such a perfect Fool!” The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite clear whether it was a compliment or not, to express it so plainly. “You mean a Jester? Yes, that's what I intended. And what do you think your disguise is to be?” And he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching him in rapture. “Oh, how lovely!” she cried, when at last the dress was unfolded. “What a splendid disguise! An Esquimaux peasant-woman!” “An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!” growled the other. “Here, put it on, and look at yourself in the glass. Why, it's a Bear, ca'n't you use your eyes?” He checked himself suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the room, “He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head!”