Virginia admitted the truth of the accusation with a half smile. She was busy trying to find a reason for this extraordinary practical joke. Élise cut forward a suggestion. “_Mon Dieu!_” she cried, clasping her hands. “If it should be the malefactors, the thieves! They send the bogus telegram and get the _domestiques_ all out of the house, and then they rob it.” “I suppose that might be it,” said Virginia doubtfully. “Yes, yes, madame, that is it without a doubt. Every day you read in the papers of such things. Madame will ring up the police at once—at once—before they arrive and cut our throats.” “Don’t get so excited, Élise. They won’t come and cut our throats at six o’clock in the afternoon.” “Madame, I implore you, let me run out and fetch a policeman now, at once.” “What on earth for? Don’t be silly, Élise. Go up and pack my things for Chimneys if you haven’t already done it. The new Cailleuax evening dress, and the white crêpe marocain, and—yes, the black velvet—black velvet is so political, is it not?” “Madame looks ravishing in the eau de nil satin,” suggested Élise, her professional instincts reasserting themselves. “No, I won’t take that. Hurry up, Élise, there’s a good girl. We’ve got very little time. I’ll send a wire to Chilvers at Datchet, and I’ll speak to the policeman on the beat as we go out and tell him to keep an eye on the place. Don’t start rolling your eyes again, Élise—if you get so frightened before anything has happened, what would you do if a man jumped out from some dark corner and stuck a knife into you?” Élise gave vent to a shrill squeak, and beat a speedy retreat up the stairs, darting nervous glances over each shoulder as she went. Virginia made a face at her retreating back, and crossed the hall to the little study where the telephone was. Élise’s suggestion of ringing up the police station seemed to her a good one, and she intended to act upon it without any further delay. She opened the study door and crossed to the telephone. Then, with her hand on the receiver, she stopped. A man was sitting in the big arm-chair, sitting in a curious huddled position. In the stress of the moment, she had forgotten all about her expected visitor. Apparently he had fallen asleep whilst waiting for her. She came right up to the chair, a slightly mischievous smile upon her face. And then suddenly the smile faded. The man was not asleep. _He was dead._ She knew it at once, knew it instinctively even before her eyes had seen and noted the small shining pistol lying on the floor, the little-singed hole just above the heart with the dark stain round it, and the horrible dropped jaw. She stood quite still, her hands pressed to her sides. In the silence she heard Élise running down the stairs. “Madame! Madame!” “Well, what is it?”