“You will do nothing of the sort,” interrupted Mr. Priestley sternly. “You will stay here until I consider the coast to be clear. If you do not give me your word to do so, I shall lock you in your room and keep you here by force. This is no time for half-measures. I am not going to have my safety jeopardised, and my very life perhaps as well, by the whims and fancies of a foolish girl. Either you give me your solemn word to remain here until I accord you permission to go out, or I will call Barker and give him the necessary instructions at once. Which is it to be?” He glared at her through his glasses. Laura gazed at him with open mouth. If anybody had ever presumed to address such peremptory commands to her before, she would have walked straight out of the place. But her nerve was frayed almost to snapping point. It was yet once more on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that the whole thing was a mistake: it wasn’t the real Crown Prince at all, and she could produce the alleged corpse and everything would be plain sailing. But dazed though she was, she realised perfectly well that it would not be all plain sailing. Mr. Priestley, for instance, would flatly refuse to credit her story, and no wonder; he would, she quite believed, use force if he considered it necessary. This was yet another new Mr. Priestley, and one of whom she felt really afraid. Besides, even if she could induce him to believe the truth, what about all these other complications—policemen, and disappearing Crown Princes, and friends in the Foreign Office? There would be endless trouble before the affair was finally cleared up and the law satisfied of her own and Mr. Priestley’s innocence. Probably they would be brought to trial. At the very least they would be held in prison during the inquiry. Laura suddenly saw herself in a prison frock, embroidered with broad arrows. Her nerve snapped. “I—I give you my solemn word,” she said huskily. “If you break it,” said Mr. Priestley ominously. “I won’t!” Laura squeaked, thoroughly frightened. Nobody had ever seen Laura thoroughly frightened before. Mr. Priestley was a very favoured mortal. With a bound the normal Mr. Priestley jumped into the place of this grim stranger. “That’s all right then. That’s excellent. And now, my dear niece, you may show me those pretty frocks and things that I know you’re longing to display.” It was the last thing his dear niece was longing to do, but she rose, on somewhat shaky limbs, and tottered off to her room. “Call me when the fashion-show is ready,” Mr. Priestley remarked benignly as she disappeared, and grinned naughtily after her eloquent back.