"Then leave it for God to discover. I'll not be a party to it. It's utter nonsense," she cried scathingly. "Rubbish!" asserted Mr. Saunders boldly. "What?" exclaimed Britt, turning upon Saunders so abruptly that the little man jumped, and immediately began to readjust his necktie. "What's that? Look here; it's our only hope--the insanity dodge, I mean. They've got to show in an English court that Skaggs and--" "Let them show what they please about Skaggs," interrupted Bobby Browne, "but, confound you, I can't have any one saying that I'm subject to fits or spells or whatever you choose to call 'em. I don't have 'em, but even if I did, I'd have 'em privately, not for the benefit of the public." "Is it necessary to make my husband insane in order to establish the fact that his grandfather was not of sound mind?" queried pretty Mrs. Browne, with her calmest Boston inflection. "It depends on your husband," said Britt coolly. "If he sticks at anything which may help us to break that will, he's certainly insane. That's all I've got to say about it." "Well, I'm hanged if I'll pose as an insane man," roared Browne. "Mr. Saunders hasn't asked _me_ to be insane, have you, Mr. Saunders?" asked Lady Agnes in her sweetest, scorn. "I don't apprehend--" began Saunders nervously. "Saunders," said Britt, calculatingly and evenly, "next thing we'll have to begin hunting for insanity in your family. We haven't heard anything from you on this little point, Lord Deppingham." "I don't know anything about Mr. Saunders's family," said Deppingham stiffly. Britt looked at him for a moment, puzzled and uncertain. Then he gave a short, hopeless laugh and said, under his breath: "Holy smoke!" He immediately altered the course of the discussion and harked back to his original declaration that spies abounded in the château. When he finally called the conference adjourned and prepared to depart, he calmly turned to the stenographer. "Did you get all this down, Miss Pelham?" "Yes, Mr. Britt." "Good!" Then he went away, leaving the quartette unconsciously depressed by the emphasis he placed upon that single word. The next day but one, it was announced that the Enemy had moved into the bungalow. Signs of activity about the rambling place could be made out from the hanging garden at the château. It was necessary, however, to employ the binoculars in the rather close watch that was kept by the interested aristocrats below. From time to time the grey, blue or white-clad figure of the Enemy could be seen directing the operations of the natives who were engaged in rehabilitating Wyckholme's "nest." The château was now under the very eye of the Enemy. CHAPTER X THE AMERICAN BAR