“You will not be called into court,” said Mr. Stott decisively. “This must go no farther, do you understand that, Eline?” Eline said she did, but she seemed in no way pleased that she was to be spared the painful publicity. “I’ve had a toothache for the past fortnight--” “You should have it out,” said Mr. Stott. An opportunity for advising sufferers to have their teeth extracted is one which no normal man can miss. “It is always best to deal drastically with a decaying tooth. Out with it my girl--well?” “It comes on about half-past eleven and goes off at two. I could set the clock by it.” “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Stott testily, his interest in Eline’s misfortune ended, “but what did you see at Mayfield?” “I usually sit at the window until the pain has gone,” said Eline, and Mr. Stott resisted the temptation to tell her that that was the very last place in the world she _ought_ to sit, “and naturally anything that happens in the street I see. The first night I was sitting there, I saw a little motor-car drive up to the front of the house. A lady got out--” “A lady?” “Well, she might have been a woman,” admitted Eline. “But she got out, opened the gates and drove into the garden. I thought that was funny, because Mr. Trasmere hasn’t a garage, and I knew there was nobody staying with him.” “Where did the car go?” “Just into the garden. There is plenty of room for it because it is not exactly a garden--more like a yard than anything. I think she took the car near the house and put out all the lights. Then she went up the steps and opened the door. There was a light in the passage the first night and I saw her taking the key out before she shut the door. She hadn’t been in the house a few minutes before I saw a man on a bicycle coming along the road. He jumped down and propped the machine against the curb. What struck me about him was the funny way he walked. Sort of queer little steps he took. He was smoking a cigar.” “Where did _he_ go?” asked Mr. Stott. “Only as far as the gate and leant on it, smoking. By and by he threw away his cigar and lit another and I saw his face--it was a Chinaman!” “Good God!” said Mr. Stott. The mental picture she conjured of a Chinaman lighting a cigar in the vicinity of Mr. Stott’s stately home, was a particularly revolting one. “Just before the policeman came along, he went back to his bicycle and rode away, but after the policeman had passed, he came back again and stood leaning on the gate until the front door of Mayfield opened. Then he sort of slunk back to his bicycle and rode in the opposite direction. I mean opposite to the way he had come. He had hardly got out of sight before I saw the lady come down and open the gates. Soon after, she brought out the car, got down, closed the gates again, and drove away. And then I saw the Chinaman riding behind and pedalling like mad as if he was trying to catch up to the car.” “Extraordinary!” said Mr. Stott. “This happened once?”