AN HONOURABLE RETREAT It was not what they expected. Their faces showed it; they were so unmistakably startled. They looked at each other, then at the unconscious woman, then back again at one another. Mr Burton bit his lip. 'Who the deuce is that?' 'Servants, perhaps.' The suggestion was the Flyman's. 'Then confound the servants! Why can't they take a little extra time to-night? They know their mistress is away.' The knocking came again--a regular rat-tat-tat. 'That's no servants. They wouldn't make that row.' 'You can never tell. Nowadays they make what row they please; they fancy themselves. Brutes!' 'Visitors, perhaps.' 'Confound them, whoever it is!' They spoke in whispers, an appreciable pause between each man's speaking, as if each in turn waited for something to happen. Mr Burton was outwardly the most self-possessed, being the kind of man who would probably smile as he mounted the gallows. The Flyman had his eyes nearly shut, his fists clenched, his shoulders a little hunched, as if gathering himself together to resist a coming attack. Mr Thomas Cox was visibly tremulous; his great head twitched upon his shoulders; he was apparently in danger of physical collapse. It was curious to observe the contrasting attitudes of the three men as they stood about the recumbent woman. The knocking was repeated, still more loudly, as if the knocker waxed impatient. 'We shall have to let 'em in. Anyhow, we shall have to see who's there. They'll knock the door down.' This was the Flyman. Mr Cox suggested an alternative. 'Can't we--can't we get away? Isn't there another way out?' Mr Burton enlightened him. 'My dear Cox, there's only one way into a flat, and there's only one way out, unless you try the window, which means a drop of perhaps a hundred feet. I'm not dropping. The Flyman's right; we shall have to see who's there. There needn't be trouble, unless you give yourself away. It depends who it is. I'll lay this dear little girl of mine upon her bed; she'll be more comfortable there, and not so conspicuous. I know which is her room. Then we'll see who's come to call on you.' Displaying a degree of strength with which one would hardly have credited his slight figure, lifting Miss Casata off the floor, he bore her from the room. During his absence there came the knocking for the fourth time, this time furiously. When he returned, a marked change had taken place in his appearance. There were signs of strange disorder on his countenance, as if during his brief withdrawal he had been unstrung by some overwhelming shock. The Flyman at once observed his altered looks. 'What's happened? What's the matter?' 'Curse you, Flyman!' 'What have I done now?' 'I say, curse you!' 'Is she--dead?'