“Bream,” said Billie, “I want you to come in the car with me to fetch the police.” “All right,” said Bream. “Get your coat.” “All right,” said Bream. “And cap.” “All right,” said Bream. He followed Billie in a docile manner out through the front door, and they made their way to the garage at the back of the house, both silent. The only difference between their respective silences was that Billie’s was thoughtful, while Bream’s was just the silence of a man who has unhitched his brain and is getting along as well as he can without it. In the hall they had left, Jane Hubbard once more took command of affairs. “Well, that’s something done,” she said, scratching Smith’s broad back with the muzzle of her weapon. “Something accomplished, something done, has earned a night’s repose. Not that we’re going to get it yet. I think those fellows are hiding somewhere, and we ought to search the house and rout them out. It’s a pity Smith isn’t a bloodhound. He’s a good cake-hound, but as a watch-dog he doesn’t finish in the first ten.” The cake-hound, charmed at the compliment, frisked about her feet like a young elephant. “The first thing to do,” continued Jane, “is to go through the ground-floor rooms....” She paused to strike a match against the suit of armour nearest to her, a proceeding which elicited a sharp cry of protest from Mrs. Hignett, and lit a cigarette. “I’ll go first, as I’ve got a gun....” She blew a cloud of smoke. “I shall want somebody with me to carry a light, and....” “Tchoo!” “What?” said Jane. “I didn’t speak,” said Mr. Mortimer. “Who am I to speak?” he went on bitterly. “Who am I that it should be supposed that I have anything sensible to suggest?” “Somebody spoke,” said Jane. “I....” “Achoo!” “Do you feel a draught, Mr. Bennett?” cried Jane sharply, wheeling round on him. “There _is_ a draught,” began Mr. Bennett. “Well, finish sneezing and I’ll go on.” “I didn’t sneeze!” “Somebody sneezed.” “It seemed to come from just behind you,” said Mrs. Hignett nervously. “It couldn’t have come from just behind me,” said Jane, “because there isn’t anything behind me from which it could have....” She stopped suddenly, in her eyes the light of understanding, on her face the set expression which was wont to come to it on the eve of action. “Oh!” she said in a different voice, a voice which was cold and tense and sinister. “Oh, I see!” She raised her gun, and placed a muscular forefinger on the trigger. “Come out of that!” she said. “Come out of that suit of armour and let’s have a look at you!” “I can explain everything,” said a muffled voice through the vizor of the helmet. “I can—_achoo!_” The smoke of the cigarette tickled Sam’s nostrils again, and he suspended his remarks. “I shall count three,” said Jane Hubbard, “One—two—” “I’m coming! I’m coming!” said Sam petulantly. “You’d better!” said Jane. “I can’t get this dashed helmet off!” “If you don’t come quick, I’ll blow it off.”