By this time two or three men had come in from the hall to inquire the meaning of the delay. They surveyed the scene uneasily. “How many of you are there?” demanded Westerham, glancing towards the door. “I suppose it is a case of twenty to one; but never mind. On this occasion it is my move. Bring your guns over here one by one. You on the left there start first.” Lord Penshurst and Kathleen were staring in amazement at Westerham, as indeed were all the guests. It was a simple exhibition of the domination of one will over many. One by one the men came forward and deposited their weapons at Westerham's feet. When they had all laid down their arms he turned again to Melun. “You can call your men off now,” he said. Melun was in no mind to remain. Without a word he walked out of the ball-room, calling on the men to accompany him; they followed him like sheep. “Just a minute, Lord Penshurst,” said Westerham, easily, “while I see these visitors off the premises.” He went out into the hall and watched the departure of the three cars. Melun was shaking with rage. So angry was he, indeed, that his passion overcame his fear, and as he was about to enter his car he stepped back into the hall again and addressed Westerham. “You shall pay for this, my gentleman,” he said in a shaking voice. Westerham made no answer except to say, “You're wasting time, and if you take my advice you will not return to town along the same route by which you came.” Then he turned on his heel and went back into the ball-room. There the men were busy sorting out the jewels on the floor and restoring them to their proper owners. As Westerham came in there was a simultaneous movement towards him. A half-score of hands were outstretched and a hundred voices clamoured admiration and congratulation. But Westerham held up his hand for silence. “Be kind enough not to approach any nearer,” he said; “my business is with Lord Penshurst. If I have been of any service to you I am glad; but please let the matter rest at that.” Westerham walked over to Lord Penshurst and looked reassuringly into his face. “Lord Penshurst,” he said, “I shall be grateful if you can spare me a few minutes.” “Certainly,” said the Prime Minister; “let us go to my own room.” The Premier led the way across the hall and down a long corridor until he came to the library. He bowed Westerham in before him and afterwards closed the door. There was open admiration in the Premier's eyes, but at the same time he was distressed and ill at ease. Like the diplomat he was, he waited for Westerham to speak the first word. Westerham spoke it. “I think,” he said, “that the time has come for mutual explanations.” “I have to thank you,” answered Lord Penshurst, “for having rid me of these ruffians to-night, but as I imagine that you have only done so to suit your own private ends,” he added coldly, “I think that it is you, rather than myself, who should make the explanations.”