“But this is absurd!” Guy said blankly. “This fellow seems not only to be taking our silly story as solemn truth, but to be dovetailing it in with something that really has happened.” “But my dear chap,” expostulated Mr. Doyle, “we can’t take it _seriously_.” “You’ll take that superintendent chap seriously when he gets on your tail, Pat,” observed George with feeling. There was an uneasy pause. “Bosnogo—_what_ did he say?” remarked Guy. “Has anybody ever heard of the place?” “I say,” said Doyle, “I wonder what it really is all about?” They went on wondering. Upon their speculations entered Dora. “Hallo!” said Dora without joy. “Hallo, you _are_ here, are you? Good. I was afraid you’d all have been carried off to jail.” “Jail?” echoed the others, jumping nimbly. “What have you come down for, Dora?” asked Mr. Doyle. “Because I was brought,” said Dora shortly. “I’m under arrest, or something ridiculous. For being an accessory to the murder of the Crown Prince of Bosnogovina, or some extraordinary tale. Have you any idea what’s happening, anybody? This really is rather gorgeous, isn’t it?” She laughed without exuberant mirth. “Frightfully,” agreed Mr. Doyle gloomily. “I’m afraid,” said Guy, “very much afraid, that we shall have to tell them the truth. It’s a pity, but there it is. Unless, of course, you’d like to carry the thing on to the end and sample the skilly, would you? I’ve always wondered what skilly was really like.” “If you mean, go to prison,” Dora said with energy, “most certainly not, even to help your experiments, Guy. I’m sorry, but I’ve got a complex about prisons. I don’t like them.” George looked relieved. He had a complex about prisons too. Perhaps it ran in the family. “Come, Dora,” observed Mr. Doyle, jesting manfully, “you——” “I say,” said George. “Look out. Here they come.” The Superintendent and Colonel Ratcliffe were crossing the lawn. In one hand the former held a pair of boots. “By Jove,” said Guy softly, “I wonder if _this_ is why old Foster was arrested so mysteriously. I suppose we ought to have had Foster rather on our consciences, but as I’ve always said, to be arrested was just the very thing that Foster needed.” Amid a respectful silence the Superintendent walked up to George. “Do you admit that these are your boots?” he asked curtly. George looked at the boots. Undoubtedly they were his. On the other hand, was he to admit the fact? He glanced at the others, but their blank faces gave him no help. “Yes,” he said. “At least—well—yes, I—I think so.” “Ah!” said the Superintendent. Guy came forward with an easy smile. “I’m afraid, Superintendent,” he said smoothly, “that we’ve got a confession to make. I can’t imagine what’s been happening elsewhere, but apparently we planned rather better than we knew. The most amazing coincidence——” “Have you anything you wish to say?” cut in the Superintendent in properly incisive tones.