Almost immediately afterwards the door opened through which the baronet had passed. If he had been panic-stricken before, his condition was now pitiable. “What’s that? What’s that?” he whimpered. “Did somebody shoot?” “Somebody shot,” said Michael calmly, “and I was the somebody. And the gentlemen you sent into the room to settle accounts with me are very lucky that I confined my firing practice to the lock of your shutter, Penne.” He saw something white on the ground, and, crossing the room with quick strides, picked it up. It was a scarf of coarse silk, and he smelt it. “Somebody dropped this in their hurry,” he said. “I guess it was to be used.” “My dear fellow, I assure you I didn’t know.” “How is the interesting invalid?” asked Michael with a curl of his lip. “The lunatic lady who screams?” The man fingered his trembling lips for a moment as though he were trying to control them. “She’s all right. It was as I—as I thought,” he said; “she had some sort of fit.” Michael eyed him pensively. “I’d like to see her, if I may,” he said. “You can’t.” Penne’s voice was loud, defiant. “You can’t see anybody! What the hell do you mean by coming into my house at this hour of the morning and damaging my property? I’ll have this matter reported to Scotland Yard, and I’ll get the coat off your back, my man! Some of you detectives think you own the earth, but I’ll show you you don’t!” The blustering voice rose to a roar. He was smothering his fear in weak anger, Michael thought, and looked up at the swords above the mantelpiece. Following the direction of his eyes, Sir Gregory wilted, and again his manner changed. “My dear fellow, why exasperate me? I’m the nicest man in the world if you only treat me right. You’ve got crazy ideas about me, you have indeed!” Michael did not argue. He walked slowly down the passage and out to meet the first sector of a blazing sun. As he reached the door he turned to the man. “I cannot insist upon searching your house because I have not a warrant, as you know, and, by the time I’d got a warrant, there would be nothing to find. But you look out, my friend!” He waved a warning finger at the man. “I hate dragging in classical allusions, but I should advise you to look up a lady in mythology who was known to the Greeks as Adrastia!” And with this he left, walking down the drive, watched with eyes of despair by a pale-faced girl from the upper window of the tower, whilst Sir Gregory went back to his library and, by much diligent searching, discovered that Adrastia was another name for Nemesis. Michael was back at the Dower House in time for breakfast. It was no great tribute to his charm that his absence had passed unnoticed—or so it appeared, though Adele had marked his disappearance, and had been the first to note his return. Jack Knebworth was in his most cheery mood. The scenes had been, he thought, most successful.