At that instant something heavy struck me violently in the back and sent me reeling against the wall. A big woman in a print dress, her arms covered with flour, and a rolling-pin in her hand, brushed violently past me. In two strides she reached the sofa, and, seizing hold of the dark girl, began to drag her away from Bruce. If the latter's collar had not given way he would certainly have been choked. As it was, the stud broke just in the nick of time. The two women reached the floor together with a loud thud, the rolling-pin clattering away across the room. Next moment, collarless and dishevelled, Bruce was leaping for the door. I followed him, grabbing the handle, and slamming it behind me. As luck would have it, there was a lock outside; and while Bruce snatched up his hat and fumbled with the front door, I turned the key with a savage force that broke it off short in my hand. Then, like two drunken men, we fell rather than staggered out into the main hall. Fortunately, there was no one about. Panting and exhausted, we leaned against the foot of the lift, while Bruce, by turning up his collar and brushing his coat with one hand, made a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of respectability. We were interrupted by the crunch of footsteps on the drive outside. "Look out," I whispered hastily; "here's someone coming." Bruce straightened himself just as a burly porter in uniform swung in through the doorway. He evidently recognized us as friends of Cynthia, for he saluted with a friendly but respectful smile. "Good-day, gen'lemen," he remarked. "I'm afraid Miss West ain't in town. Gone to Reigate, so I understand. P'rhaps you've seen the parlourmaid?" I nodded my head. "Yes," I said; "we've seen the parlourmaid. Could you get us a cab?" "Certainly, sir; taxi, sir?" "It doesn't matter," interrupted Bruce in a dazed voice, "as long as there are no women in it." I nudged him warningly, but the porter, evidently taking him for a humourist, laughed heartily. "Very well, sir," he said briskly; "I'll see to that, sir." Then, pulling a whistle from under his uniform, he stepped outside and blew a shrill blast. Almost immediately a taxi rolled up the drive. The porter opened the door; and as we came down the steps to get in, a small boy with a bundle of newspapers under his arm dashed up and thrust one out before me. "'Ere y'are, sir; two-thirty winner. Death of a well-known millionaire, sir." "Push off, me lad," said the porter grandly. I had pulled a penny out of my pocket, however, before he spoke, and with an _Evening News_ in my hand I followed Bruce into the taxi. "Where to, sir?" inquired the porter. For a moment I was floored. "The Bachelors' Club," said Bruce, handing him a shilling. The porter saluted and passed on the instructions. "Bruce," I said dully, "do you realize what we're spending in cabs?" Bruce shook his head with an air of utter weariness.