Sally turned restlessly, and, having turned remained for a long instant transfixed and rigid. She had seen something, and what she had seen was enough to surprise any girl in the privacy of her bedroom. From underneath the bed there peeped coyly forth an undeniably masculine shoe and six inches of a grey trouser-leg. Sally bounded to the floor. She was a girl of courage, and she meant to probe this matter thoroughly. “What are you doing under my bed?” The question was a reasonable one, and evidently seemed to the intruder to deserve an answer. There was a muffled sneeze, and he began to crawl out. The shoe came first. Then the legs. Then a sturdy body in a dusty coat. And finally there flashed on Sally's fascinated gaze a head of so nearly the maximum redness that it could only belong to one person in the world. “Ginger!” Mr. Lancelot Kemp, on all fours, blinked up at her. “Oh, hullo!” he said. CHAPTER IX. GINGER BECOMES A RIGHT-HAND MAN It was not till she saw him actually standing there before her with his hair rumpled and a large smut on the tip of his nose, that Sally really understood how profoundly troubled she had been about this young man, and how vivid had been that vision of him bobbing about on the waters of the Thames, a cold and unappreciated corpse. She was a girl of keen imagination, and she had allowed her imagination to riot unchecked. Astonishment, therefore, at the extraordinary fact of his being there was for the moment thrust aside by relief. Never before in her life had she experienced such an overwhelming rush of exhilaration. She flung herself into a chair and burst into a screech of laughter which even to her own ears sounded strange. It struck Ginger as hysterical. “I say, you know!” said Ginger, as the merriment showed no signs of abating. Ginger was concerned. Nasty shock for a girl, finding blighters under her bed. Sally sat up, gurgling, and wiped her eyes. “Oh, I am glad to see you,” she gasped. “No, really?” said Ginger, gratified. “That's fine.” It occurred to him that some sort of apology would be a graceful act. “I say, you know, awfully sorry. About barging in here, I mean. Never dreamed it was your room. Unoccupied, I thought.” “Don't mention it. I ought not to have disturbed you. You were having a nice sleep, of course. Do you always sleep on the floor?” “It was like this...” “Of course, if you're wearing it for ornament, as a sort of beauty-spot,” said Sally, “all right. But in case you don't know, you've a smut on your nose.” “Oh, my aunt! Not really?” “Now would I deceive you on an important point like that?” “Do you mind if I have a look in the glass?” “Certainly, if you can stand it.” Ginger moved hurriedly to the dressing-table. “You're perfectly right,” he announced, applying his handkerchief. “I thought I was. I'm very quick at noticing things.” “My hair's a bit rumpled, too.” “Very much so.”