That was a royal thought? Now to make all right, all secure. Now! What a royal thought! A thought worthy of the prince regnant of the Nether Depths. He stooped, took up his candle, and crossed the room with rapid steps. He locked the door of the tower-room, and, having reached his own room, rang the bell. James answered the bell. "James," he said, "I cannot rest. I cannot believe this dreadful thing. I wish you and the other servants to search the house thoroughly from garret to cellars. Mind, a room is not to be omitted. When every room has been examined let me know. I have been in the tower." James left, and for an hour the banker sat alone in his bedroom. At the end of the hour James came back with the report that every room had been examined and no trace found. "We can do no more, James. I shall want no one to-night. You may all go to bed as soon as you like. Good-night." Again he was alone. Alone for the night. Alone save for the proximity of his wife in the next room. Alone with his royal idea and the easy means of carrying it out. He braced himself, and began walking up and down the room firmly. Yes, this was a golden opportunity, which would have been utterly worthless but that in the mid-centre and at the right moment his great thought had burst in upon him. It was most likely his wife would never wake. In fact, the chances were in favour of her not waking. It would be almost a miracle if ever she returned to consciousness. Why should there ever be an inquest? Supposing she had died in her sleep, it would have done no one any good to hold an inquest. Then, if she did die in this sleep, what would Maud Midharst regard him as to-morrow night? As a widower, of course. And what should he regard himself as? As a man doubly delivered from a wife who was the slave of an odious vice, and from ruin, disgrace, and suicide. She was sleeping still, he supposed. He would go and try. He stole cautiously out into the passage, and, opening the door into the tower-room, crept towards the couch. He did not carry a candle this time. He stumbled over something hard and metallic which he had seen when last in the room. He recovered himself rapidly. He paused, balanced himself on the balls of his feet, leaned forward, and listened intently. The sound had not roused her. It was as dark as a vault. A faint blue square, like the bloom under trees in summer, showed the situation of the one window. All the rest was as much out of view as if the solid earth intervened. He crossed the room and approached the couch, with his head thrust forward, and all the faculties of his mind bent on his hearing; he stooped over the couch and listened, as though he would pierce remotest silence to reach what he sought. Yes, there was a low, faint sound of breathing, but so low it seemed to come from a long distance. He knelt down beside the couch, and called softly in her ear, "Bee." No answer. "Bee." No answer. "Bee." No answer.