At nine o’clock Mr. Goddard, still in tennis flannels, and accompanied by Captain Fielding, climbed over the wall of his own back garden, and slipped through the yard into the kitchen. “Mary,” he said to the housekeeper, “is that young lady gone?” “She is not; and, what’s more, it’s my opinion that she won’t go.” “There,” said Mr. Goddard to Captain Fielding, “what did I tell you? She’s an amazingly persistent woman.” “Go and turn her out,” said Captain Fielding. “Tell her it’s highly improper for her to be sitting here in your house in the middle of the night.” Mr. Goddard sighed. The advice was well meant, but it was useless. He knew Miss Blow, and Captain Fielding did not. “Mary,” he said, “slip upstairs as quietly as you can, and get my pyjamas and tooth brush. I’ll have to go to the barrack for the night. They’ll give me some sort of a shake-down.” “And will the young lady be sleeping here?” asked Mary. “I expect so,” said Mr. Goddard. “If she does, she’ll tell you so beforehand quite plainly. Make her as comfortable as you can.” Mary went upstairs on tiptoe. Unfortunately, owing to nervousness induced by excess of caution, she upset a hot-water can, which fell with a hideous clatter against Mr. Goddard’s bath. She hastened from the bedroom, and was met on the stairs by Miss Blow. “What have you got there?” said Miss Blow, eyeing the pyjamas suspiciously. “It’s clothes from the wash,” said Mary. “Now that the master’s away, I thought I might as well be doing that as nothing.” “You can tell him,” said Miss Blow, “that I’m going to the hotel now, and that I’ll be round to see him the first thing in the morning.” She left the house, slamming the door behind her. Mary carried the pyjamas and the tooth brush upstairs again. Then she went into the kitchen and broke the happy news to her master and Captain Fielding. “Thank God!” said Mr. Goddard. “I’m safe for to-night, anyway.” “She’ll be back with you in the morning,” said Captain Fielding, grinning. “I don’t see that you’ve much to congratulate yourself about.” “Something may happen before then,” said Mr. Goddard. It is very seldom that things happen just when they are wanted to. The prisoner on the verge of execution hopes, but as a rule hopes in vain, for an earthquake at early dawn. The debtor whose bill is due the next day prays for, but scarcely expects, a fire in the bank premises during the night, an effective fire destructive of iron safes. Mr. Goddard’s feeling that something might happen before Miss Blow caught him again was hardly a hope. Nothing short of some wholly unprecedented event would be any use to him. But Mr. Goddard was exceptionally fortunate. Something did happen. He was roused at six o’clock in the morning by a violent knocking at his door. He looked out of his window and saw Constable Moriarty standing in the street with a bicycle. “What on earth do you want at this hour?” said Mr. Goddard.