Though she had so far obeyed Battle's orders as to return to her room, Bundle had no intention of going to bed and sleeping. Nor did she think that Battle had really intended her to do so. He was not a man to expect impossibilities. And to remain quiescent when something daring and exciting might be going on was a sheer impossibility to Bundle. She glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes to two. After a moment or two of irresolution, she cautiously opened her door. Not a sound. Everything was still and peaceful. She stole cautiously along the passage. Once she halted, thinking she heard a board creak somewhere, but then convinced that she was mistaken, she went on again. She was now in the main corridor, making her way to the west wing. She reached the angle of intersection and peered cautiously round--then she stared in blank surprise. The watcher's post was empty. Jimmy Thesiger was not there. Bundle stared in complete amazement. What had happened? Why had Jimmy left his post? What did it mean? And at that moment she heard a clock strike two. She was still standing there, debating what to do next, when suddenly her heart gave a leap and then seemed to stand still. _The door handle of Terence O'Rourke's room was slowly turning._ Bundle watched, fascinated. But the door did not open. Instead the knob returned slowly to its original position. What did it mean? Suddenly Bundle came to a resolution. Jimmy, for some unknown reason, had deserted his post. She must get hold of Bill. Quickly and noiselessly, Bundle fled along the way she had come. She burst unceremoniously into Bill's room. "Bill, wake up! Oh, do wake up!" It was an urgent whisper she sent forth, but there came no response to it. "Bill," breathed Bundle. Impatiently she switched on the lights, and then stood dumfounded. The room was empty, and the bed had not even been slept in. Where then was Bill? Suddenly she caught her breath. _This was not Bill's room._ The dainty négligé thrown over a chair, the feminine knick-knacks on the dressing-table, the black velvet evening dress thrown carelessly over a chair--Of course, in her haste she had mistaken the doors. This was the Countess Radzky's room. But where, oh, where, was the Countess? And just as Bundle was asking herself this question, the silence of the night was suddenly broken, and in no uncertain manner. The clamour came from below. In an instant Bundle had sped out of the Countess's room and downstairs. The sounds came from the library--a violent crashing of chairs being overturned. Bundle rattled vainly at the library door. It was locked. But she could clearly hear the struggle that was going on within--the panting and scuffling, curses in manly tones, the occasional crash as some light piece of furniture came into the line of battle. And then, sinister and distinct, breaking the peace of the night for good and all, two shots in rapid succession. CHAPTER XX