It was time that all good people were in bed. But it was hopeless to approach such lunatics with questions, for they were English, and no decent Frenchman could possibly hope to understand their actions or motives. It was satisfactory that they could speak French well; therefore the manager counselled the hall-porter to exhibit patience and prudence. Moreover, milords upstairs would be sure to recompense him for an enforced vigil by a liberal _pourboire_. At last, when even the Cannebiere was empty, and when the latest café had closed its doors and the final tramcar had wearily jingled its way up the hill towards a distant suburb, the electric bell jangled a noisy summons to the front door. It produced the hall-porter and Fairholme with remarkable celerity. The Frenchman cautiously opened the door and saw outside a muffled-up female who eagerly demanded admittance. He knew by her accent that she was not a Marseillaise, but the shawl that covered her head and shoulders showed that she belonged to the working classes. "Whom do you wish to see at this hour?" he gruffly demanded. "I live here," said Edith. "I came here to-night with my brother from Paris. Please let me in at once." In her excitement and breathlessness, for she had hurried at top speed from the harbour, Edith forgot that the homely garment she adopted as a disguise effectually cloaked her from the recognition of the hall-porter as from all others. Moreover, her French accent was too good. It deceived the man even more thoroughly than did the shawl. "Oh, really now," he said, "this is for laughter! A woman like you staying at the hotel! Be off, or I will call a gendarme." In his amazement at her demand he had not heard Fairholme's rapid approach behind him. He was now swung unceremoniously out of the way and the earl jumped forward to seize Edith in his arms. "My darling girl," he cried, "where have you been? We almost gave you up for lost. Where is your hat? Where did you get that shawl?" And all the time he was hugging her so fiercely that it was absolutely impossible for her to say a single word. At length she disengaged herself. "Don't be so ridiculous," she said, "but let me come in and close the door. The hall-porter will think we are cracked." She summarised the hall-porter's sentiments most accurately. He explained the transaction to the manager with most eloquent pantomime, and the two marvelled greatly at the weird proceedings of their strange guests. "Ah," said the manager at length, "now that mademoiselle has returned, perhaps they will go to bed." At that instant Brett's voice was heard upon the stairs. He wanted the telephone again. Edith had rapidly detailed her adventures to her astonished auditors, and Brett seemed to resolve on some plan of action with the lightning rapidity peculiar to him.