"My dear Bernadine," he said, "up till now I have tried to take you seriously. You are really passing the limit. I must positively ask you to reflect a little. Do men who live the life that you and I live trust anyone? Am I, is the Marquis de Sogrange here, after a lifetime of experience, likely to leave the safety of our homes in company with a lady of whom we knew nothing except that she was your companion, without precautions? I do you the justice to believe you are a person of common sense. I know that we are as safe in this house as we should be in our own. War cannot be made in this fashion in an over-policed country like England." "Do not be too sure," Bernadine replied. "There are secrets about this house which have not yet been disclosed to you. There are means, my dear Baron, of transporting you into a world where you are likely to do much less harm than here, means ready at hand which would leave no more trace behind than those crumbling ashes can tell of the coal-mine from which they came." Peter preserved his attitude of bland incredulity. "Listen," he said, drawing a whistle from his pocket, "it is just possible that you are in earnest. I will bet you, then, if you like, a hundred pounds, that if I blow this whistle you will either have to open your door within five minutes or find your house invaded by the police." No one spoke for several moments. The veins were standing out upon Bernadine's forehead. "We have had enough of this folly," he cried. "If you refuse to realise your position, so much the worse for you. Blow your whistle, if you will. I am content." Peter waited for no second bidding. He raised the whistle to his lips and blew it, loudly and persistently. Again there was silence. Bernadine mocked him. "Try once more, dear Baron," he advised. "Your friends are perhaps a little hard of hearing. Try once more, and when you have finished, you and I and the Marquis de Sogrange will find our way once more to the gun-room and conclude that trifling matter of business which brought you here." Again Peter blew his whistle and again the silence was broken only by Bernadine's laugh. Suddenly, however, that laugh was checked. Everyone had turned toward the door, listening. A bell was ringing throughout the house. "It is the front door," one of the servants exclaimed. No one moved. As though to put the matter beyond doubt, there was a steady knocking to be heard from the same direction. "It is a telegram or some late caller," Bernadine declared, hoarsely. "Answer it, Carl. If anyone would speak with the Baroness, she is indisposed and unable to receive. If anyone desires me, I am here."