"Oh no!" said Denry. "I shall be all right." And he did seem to be suddenly restored. "You must have an emetic instantly," she repeated. "What can I have?" he grumbled. "You can't expect to find emetics here." "Oh yes, I can," said she. "I saw a mustard tin in a cupboard in the kitchen. Come along now, and don't be silly." Nellie's hysteric mirth surged up again. Denry objected to accompanying his mother into the kitchen. But he was forced to submit. She shut the door on both of them. It is probable that during the seven minutes which they spent mysteriously together in the kitchen, the practicability of the kitchen apparatus for carrying off waste products was duly tested. Denry came forth, very pale and very cross, on his mother's arm. "There's no danger now," said his mother, easily. Naturally the party was at an end. The Cotterills sympathised, and prepared to depart, and inquired whether Denry could walk home. Denry replied, from a sofa, in a weak, expiring voice, that he was perfectly incapable of walking home, that his sensations were in the highest degree disconcerting, that he should sleep in that house, as the bedrooms were ready for occupation, and that he should expect his mother to remain also. And Mrs Machin had to concur. Mrs Machin sped the Cotterills from the door as though it had been her own door. She was exceedingly angry and agitated. But she could not impart her feelings to the suffering Denry. He moaned on a bed for about half-an-hour, and then fell asleep. And in the middle of the night, in the dark, strange house, she also fell asleep. VI The next morning she arose and went forth, and in about half-an-hour returned. Denry was still in bed, but his health seemed to have resumed its normal excellence. Mrs Machin burst upon him in such a state of complicated excitement as he had never before seen her in. "Denry," she cried, "what do you think?" "What?" said he. "I've just been down home, and they're--they're pulling the house down. All the furniture's out, and they've got all the tiles off the roof, and the windows out. And there's a regular crowd watching." Denry sat up. "And I can tell you another piece of news," said he. "Mr Cecil Wilbraham is dead." "Dead!" she breathed. "Yes," said Denry. "_I think he's served his purpose._ As we're here, we'll stop here. Don't forget it's the most sensible kind of a house you've ever seen. Don't forget that Mrs Cotterill could run it without a servant and have herself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."