"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "it's intolerable. I can't help thinking! Just think what they'll all think!" "Yes, my dear; I was thinking that they would be thinking what you say they will be thinking. I'm afraid some of them must have been thinking already." "Perhaps," moaned poor Marjorie, half consoled by the relief of tears, "that b-b-b-loody b-b-beast will find the b-b-b-b-b-bloody thing after all." "Yes, my dear, yes. I hope he will. I'm sure he will. I am indeed!" She dried her eyes, sighed wearily, kissed her father good night, and went off to bed. It was nearly one o'clock. The poor man, as he heard her step go slowly up the great stairs, retained his daughter's despairing voice vividly in his ears. It reminded him of his wife's--only the vocabulary had somewhat changed since the days when Queen Victoria gave so admirable an example to the ladies of the land. * * * * * * * He rose wearily, feeling fevered, and the worry on him increasingly intolerable. He stepped out into the hall; it was still fully lit. He rang, and when the servant came he asked him whether the offices were shut up. He was told that all had gone to bed but the man who had come at his summons. He bade him go in his turn, and put out all the lights. Then he himself switched out the bulbs in the hall and stared at the great window beside the door. It was singularly light outside, and the air was oppressive within. Cold as was the weather, he needed to feel the open. He thrust up the sash and drank in the rush of freezing air. The moon must have just risen, but a slight mist was ascending. Half an hour's light fall of snow had again marked off the lawn, but evidently hours before, since the paths were swept round the house and along up the avenue to the left. He shut down the sash again, a little refreshed, but still most ill at ease. With a sigh he turned towards the door of the library, within which room, alone, crouched the nightmare policeman. He forced himself in, and found the fellow there. "We must go into the West Room, Mr. Collop," he said. "My daughter has gone to bed; the house is all shut up, and we can discuss matters undisturbed. It is in the West Room that the thing happened. Come." CHAPTER TWELVE In the West Room the Home Secretary opened fire on his guest. "All these schemes of yours, Mr. Collop," he said firmly, "you must discard. Time is essential. I ask you for some immediate action. This very night. Mr. Collop, I beg you to proceed." Mr. Collop needed no further invitation. Proceeding was his passion--I might almost say, his vice. "Got to be done express?" he asked. "Right-o! Now I'll tell ye my way. I divide it," he continued, roaring powerfully, "into three heads." Then, much more loudly, "Head number one." "Pray, pray, Mr. Collop," agonised the Home Secretary, with outstretched hands. "A little lower, please! We must not be overheard!"