Henson advanced angrily. His prudence had gone for the time. As he came down upon Christabel she raised her revolver and fired two shots in quick succession over Henson's shoulder. The noise went echoing and reverberating along the corridor like a crackling of thunder. A door came open with a click, then a voice demanded to know what was wrong. "Now I guess the fat is in the fire," Christabel said. Henson dropped into a chair and groaned. Lord Littimer, elegantly attired in a suit of silk pyjamas and carrying a revolver in his hand, came coolly down the corridor. A curious servant or two would have followed, but he waved them back crisply. "Miss Lee," he said, with a faint, sarcastic emphasis, "and my dear friend and relative, Reginald Henson--Reginald, the future owner of Littimer Castle!" "So he told me, but I wouldn't believe him," said Christabel. "It is a cynical age," Littimer remarked. "Reginald, what does this mean?" Henson shook his head uneasily. "The young lady persisted in taking me for a burglar," he groaned. "And why not?" Christabel demanded. "I was just going to bed when I heard voices in the forecourt below and footsteps creeping along. I came into the corridor with my revolver. Presently one of the men climbed up the ivy and got into the corridor. I covered him with my revolver and fairly drove him into a bedroom and locked him in." "So you killed with both barrels?" Littimer cried, with infinite enjoyment. "Then the other one came. He came to steal the Rembrandt." "Nothing of the kind," the wretched Henson cried. "I came to give you a lesson, Lord Littimer. My idea was to get in through the window, steal the Rembrandt, and, when you had missed it, confess the whole story. My character is safe." "Giddy," Littimer said, reproachfully. "You are so young, so boyish, so buoyant, Reginald. What would your future constituents have said had they seen you creeping up the ivy? They are a grave people who take themselves seriously. Egad, this would be a lovely story for one of those prying society papers. 'The Philanthropist and the Picture.' I've a good mind to send it to the Press myself." Littimer sat down and laughed with pure enjoyment. "And where is the other partridge?" he asked, presently. Christabel seemed to hesitate for a moment, her sense of humour of the situation had departed. Her hand shook as she turned the key in the door. "I am afraid you are going to have an unpleasant surprise," Henson said. Littimer glanced keenly at the speaker. All the laughter died out of his eyes; his face grew set and stern as Frank Littimer emerged into the light. "And what are you doing here?" he asked, hoarsely. "What do you expect to gain by taking part in a fool's trick like this? Did I not tell you never to show your face here again?"