“I can’t understand it,” he said as they were passing through Barnet. “I know the dagger was there yesterday, because I was showing it to Sir Thomas Summers. He is keenly interested in Eastern steel work. None of the servants would dare touch the swords.” “Perhaps you’ve had strangers in the room.” He shook his head. “Only the gentleman from police head-quarters,” he said, “and I’m quite sure he wouldn’t have taken it. No, it is a little mystery which we can put on one side at the moment.” For the rest of the journey he was attentive, polite, and mildly amusing. Not once did he give the slightest hint that he entertained any other emotion towards her than that of a well-bred man for a respected guest. He had not exaggerated the charms of his “little place” on the Hatfield Road. In truth, it lay nearly three miles from the main road, and was delightfully situated in the midst of rolling and wooded country. “Here we are,” he said, as he led her through a panelled hall into an exquisitely decorated little drawing-room. Tea was laid, but there was no servant in sight. “And now, my dear,” said Willings, “we are alone, thank heaven.” His tone, his very manner had changed, and the girl knew that the critical moment was at hand. Yet her hand did not tremble as she filled the teapot from the steaming kettle, seemingly oblivious to all that he was saying. She had poured out the tea and was setting his cup in its place, when, without preliminary, he stooped over her and kissed her; another second, and she was in his arms. She did not struggle, but her grave eyes were fixed steadfastly on his, and she said quietly: “I have something I’d like to say to you.” “Well, you can say anything you wish, my dear,” said the amorous Willings, holding her tightly, and looking into her unflinching eyes. Before she could speak again his mouth was against hers. She tried to get her arm between them, and to exercise the ju-jitsu trick she had learnt at school, but he knew something of that science. She had seen on entering the room that at one end was a curtained recess, and toward this he was half-lifting, half-carrying her. She did not scream, indeed, to Raphael, she seemed more yielding than he had dared to hope. Twice she tried to speak, and twice he stopped her. She struggled nearer and nearer to the curtained brocade.… The two Italian servants were in the kitchen which was somewhat removed from the room, but they heard the scream and looked at one another, and then with one accord they flew into the hall. The door of the drawing-room was unlocked: they flung it open. Near by the curtain Raphael Willings lay on his face, three inches of Assyrian dagger in his shoulder, and standing by him, staring down at him was a white-faced girl.