The huge room was crowded. Everybody was there, including Count Andrew Drouillard, who rarely attended the functions; the Princess Mariana di Pavesi, young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned to New York after a tour of the West as a chorus-man in "The Merry Widow"); and Prince Waldemar de Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler's on account of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning. "What do you want?" whispered Cricklewick, angrily, passing close to the curtains and cocking his ear without appearing to do so. "Come out here," whispered Julia. "Don't hiss like that! I can't come." "You must. It's something dreadful." "Is it McFaddan's wife?" whispered Cricklewick, in sudden dismay. "Worse than that. The police." "My Gawd!" The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan's eye, and signalled him to come at once. If it was the police, McFaddan was the man to handle them. All the princes and lords and counts in New York combined were not worth McFaddan's little finger in an emergency like this. At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring Cricklewick and the incredulous McFaddan. "They're at the gate down there, two of 'em in full uniform,--awful looking things,--and a man in a silk hat and evening dress. He says if we don't let him up he'll have the joint pulled." "We'll see about _that_," said McFaddan gruffly and not at all in the voice or manner of a well-trained footman. He led the way down the steps, followed by Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last landing but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful whisper restored Cricklewick to his natural position as a superior. "You go ahead and see what they want," he said. "What's wrong with your going first?" demanded Cricklewick, holding back. "I suddenly remembered that the cops wouldn't know what to think if they saw me in this rig," confessed McFaddan, ingratiatingly. "They might drop dead, you know." "You can explain that you're attending a fancy dress party," said Cricklewick earnestly. "I am a respectable, dignified merchant and I--" "Go on, man! If you need me I'll be waitin' at the top of the steps. They don't know you from Adam, so what's there to be afraid of?" Fortified by McFaddan's promise, Cricklewick descended to the barred and locked grating. "What's goin' on here?" demanded the burliest policeman he had ever seen. The second bluecoat shook the gate till it rattled on its hinges. Mr. Cricklewick was staring, open-mouthed but speechless, at the figure behind the policemen. "Open up," commanded the second officer. "Get a move on." "We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle. This gentleman says something's been goin' on here for the past month to his certain knowledge,--" "Just a moment," broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering the lower part of his face with his hand,--that being the nearest he could come, under the circumstances, to emulating the maladroit ostrich. "I will call Mr.--"