“I shall get out a horse and trap if I can without being noticed. I shall drive down to the station, and lie hid in the ticket office until the next train is due. Then I shall go to London. You’d better come with me.” Lord Manton’s idea was to reach the stable-yard by way of the servants’ quarters, so as to avoid passing the doors of either the big or the small drawing-room. To do this from the library it was necessary to go along a corridor and then cross an angle of the central hall off which both the drawing-rooms opened. The corridor was safe. The passage across the hall was dangerous. Unless Wilkins actually locked the ladies in, a door might be opened at any moment. Lord Manton and Mr. Goddard went on tiptoe along the corridor. A voice reached them from the hall. It was Wilkins’ voice. “This way, miss, if you please.” “One of them has escaped,” said Mr. Goddard. “No,” whispered Lord Manton; “it’s only Wilkins moving Miss Blow into the big drawing-room. Wait a minute.” They heard Wilkins’ voice again. This time it was nearer than it had been. “I beg your pardon, miss, but if you’ll allow me to show you the way. You’re going in quite the wrong direction, miss.” Mr. Goddard clutched Lord Manton’s arm. “She’s coming down here,” he said. “We’d better----” “It’s all right,” whispered Lord Manton. “Wilkins will head her off.” “I’m going in the direction in which I mean to go.” This voice was unmistakably Miss Blow’s. It was clear, resonant, determined, and sounded very near at hand. “Good heavens!” said Mr. Goddard. “She’s quite right,” said Lord Manton. “She is going in the direction in which she means to go. I rather respect her for it.” Wilkins, walking sideways, and expostulating vehemently, appeared at the end of the corridor. Behind him, mistress of herself and the situation, strode Miss Blow. She caught sight of Lord Manton and Mr. Goddard at once. She pointed to them with a finger and fixed her eyes upon them with a terrible glare. They stood still, fascinated. The idea of escape by running and a leap through the library window occurred to Lord Manton. But with Miss Blow’s eyes on him he was incapable of the effort. Wilkins, faithful to the last, walked backwards along the corridor, in front of Miss Blow. He looked as if he meant to sacrifice himself in order to stand between his master and Amazonian violence. He was a good servant. “So there you are,” said Miss Blow. “You----” Her finger, pointed at Mr. Goddard, trembled with indignant scorn. “And you, my lord.” There was a fine note of contempt, bitter and furious contempt, in her voice, as she uttered the words “my lord.” There was something terrible in the association of a title reckoned honourable by the world with the baseness which she evidently attributed to Lord Manton. “Yes,” said Lord Manton; “we’re both here. But why aren’t you in the big drawing-room with the other ladies? You oughtn’t to come down here, you know, especially without a chaperone.”