It was sylvan and, to an extent, idyllic, but it is dangerous to be associated with crime. The convert to crime, religion or politics, is ever the more impressionable, and his actions are liable to outstrip the prudence of those who have inherited the traditions of their creed. The gloom of the situation and the memory of his lost hopes and ambitions attacked Raife, and, in a despairing mood, he perceived the ease with which all could be ended by a quick death in this silent pool. He and Gilda together could complete the tragedy of their lives. He had no doubt that she would consent to suicide, but why should he consult her in the matter? To overturn the punt would be easy, for it was a crazy old craft, and thus, entwined, they would sink to the depths, to oblivion. A voice came across the water. It travelled clearly, as sound will travel across still water on a quiet night. "Monsieur, votre diner! C'est servi!" It was a cheery, pleasant voice, and it announced that dinner was served. Neither seemed to hear the call. Gilda was in one off her trance moods, and Raife was contemplating his last crime. Again the voice floated over the lake. "Sir, your dinner is served." Raife awakened from his own trance and leisurely paddled the punt from the deep pool to shallow water. From the depths of his determination to the shallows of the commonplace he was aroused by the old landlady of the cabaret, who was calling him back to life. His resonant voice responded, as he poled the punt vigorously to the moss and lichen-covered steps. "Eh bien, madame, nous arriverons au moment." His voice was quite cheery now, and he hailed her again. "All right, we shall be there in a moment." He moored the punt to the rusty iron ring attached to the steps. Gilda seemed to be still in a trance mood. Raife answered the old lady's pleasant railleries. The taxi-driver, who had been ordered to wait, peeped into the room unobserved from the kitchen. His wants had been served. To himself he reflected: "Queer couple. They're handsome enough, but there's some trouble, I wager." Dinner was served, and death was forgotten. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. SIR RAIFE REMINGTON, BARONET AND BURGLAR.