The bewildering enthusiasm of the moment caught her too. She rose from her seat--only a yard or two away from the triumphant pair--and went up to them with an impulsive gesture. "God bless you, my dears!" she said in a broken voice. Marjorie bowed her head. She drooped like a lovely flower. Fate, it seemed to her, had taken everything out of her hands. She was the creature of the moment, the toy of a wild and exhilarating environment. She gave one quick, shy glance at Sir William. He read in it the fulfilment of all his hopes. Then old Lord Malvin came down the room, ancient, stately and bland. "My dears," he said simply, "this must be a very happy night for you." Sir William turned to the girl suddenly. His voice was confident and strong. "My dear Marjorie," he said, "how kind they all are to us!" A little group of four people sat down to the table beneath the crimson-shaded light. Lord Malvin, the most famous scientist and most courtly gentleman of his time. Sir William Gouldesbrough, the hero of this famous party--to-morrow, when Donald Megbie had done his work, to be the hero of the civilized world. Lady Poole. Sweet Marjorie Poole, in the grip of circumstances that were beyond her thinking. And no one of the four--not even Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S.--gave a thought to the man in the living tomb--to Guy Rathbone who was, even at that moment, tied up in india-rubber and aluminium bonds for the amusement of Mr. Guest, the pink, hairless man of Regent's Park. Mr. Guest was drunk of whisky, and sat happy, mocking his prisoner far down in the cellars of Sir William's house. Other folk were drunk of success and applause in Portland Place. But Donald Megbie was awake in the Inner Temple, and his thoughts were curious and strange. Donald Megbie had left the party too early in the evening. He was drunk of nothing at all! CHAPTER XVI STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN THE TEMPLE Like most writers, Donald Megbie was of a nervous and sensitive temperament. Both mental and physical impressions recorded themselves very rapidly and completely upon his consciousness. He arrived at the Inner Temple with every nerve in a state of excitement, such as he had hardly ever known before. He walked down the dim echoing ways towards the river, his chambers being situated in the new buildings upon the embankment. A full moon hung in the sky, brilliant and honey-coloured, attended by little drifts of amber and sulphur-tinted clouds. But the journalist saw nothing of the night's splendour. He almost stumbled up the stairs to the first floor. A lamp was burning over the door of his rooms, and his name was painted in white letters upon the oak. He went in and turned on the electric light. Then, for a moment, he stood still in the hall, a richly-furnished place surrounded on all sides by doors painted white. His feet made no sound upon the thick Persian carpet, and the whole flat was perfectly still.