“Let me go,” said Thalia steadily. She did not lose her nerve nor show the least sign of fear. Suddenly he felt her tense muscles relax. He had conquered. With a quick intake of breath he released his hold of the sullen girl. “Let me have some supper,” she said, and he beamed. “Now, my dear, you are being the little girl I--what’s that?” The last was a squeak of terror. She had strolled slowly to the table and had taken up the brocade bag. He had watched her and thought she was seeking a handkerchief. Instead she had produced a small, black, egg-shaped thing, and with a flick of her left hand had pulled out a small pin and dropped the pin on to the table. He knew what it was--he had dabbled in army supplies and had seen many Mills bombs. “Put it down--no, no, put the pin in, you young fool!” he whimpered. “Don’t worry,” she said coolly. “I have a spare pin in my bag--open that door!” His hand shook like a man with palsy as he fumbled at the keyhole. Then he turned and blinked at her. “A Mills bomb!” he mumbled, and fell back an obese mass of quivering flesh against the delicate panelling. Slowly she nodded. “A Mills bomb,” she said softly, and went out, still gripping the lever of the deadly egg-like thing. He followed her to the door and slammed it after her, then went shakily up the stairs to his bedroom. “Flush” Barnet, standing in the shadow of a clothes-press, heard the click of locks and the snap of a bolt as Mr. Marl entered his room. The house was still. Through the thick door of Mr. Marl’s bedroom no sound came. There was no transom to the door, and the only evidence that there was somebody in his room was afforded by a fret of light in the ceiling of the passage, which came through a ventilator in the wall of the bedroom. During the war this house had been used as an officers’ convalescent home, and certain hygienic arrangements had been introduced, which were more useful than beautiful. “Flush” crept softly in his stockinged feet to the door and listened. He thought he heard the man talking to himself and looked around for some means by which he could obtain a view of the room. There was a small oaken table in the corridor and he placed this against the wall and mounted. His eyes came to the level of the ventilator and he looked down upon Mr. Marl pacing the room in his shirt-sleeves, obviously disturbed. Then “Flush” Barnet heard a sound. Just a faint “hush-hush” of feet on a carpet, and he slipped down, walked quickly along the corridor, passing the head of the stairs.