“It was Monty who confused me,” he said in excuse, and looked reproachfully at his vis-à-vis. “What’s trumps?” “It’s your bid,” Nora cried. “You dealt.” “I go one spade.” “One no trump,” Monty declared. “Two royals,” Nora cried, not that she had them, but to take it away from Monty. “Pass,” said Alice glumly. She could have gone two royals, but dared not risk three. “Give me three cards,” Michael cried more cheerfully. The way was becoming clearer. “Michael,” his wife said reprovingly, “if you’re really as tired as that, you’d better go to bed.” “I never broke up a poker game in my life,” he cried. “It’s only the shank of the evening. What’s happened, partner?” he yawned to Nora. “I went two royals,” she said. Michael looked at his hand enthusiastically. “Three aces,” he murmured. “I’d like to open it for two dollars--as it is, I pass.” “Two no trumps,” said Monty. When the rest had passed, Nora led and Monty played from the dummy. Michael, at last feeling he was rounding into form, played a low card, so that dummy took the trick with a nine. “Anything wrong?” he asked anxiously as Nora shook her head. “If you don’t want to win you’re playing like a bridge article in a Sunday paper,” she returned. “This game makes me sick,” he said in disgust. “Nothing but reproaches.” “I wish Mr. Denby were playing instead of poor Michael,” Nora remarked. “Steve’s got the right idea,” Monty commented. “He’s in bed.” “Great man, Denby,” said Michael. “He knows you can’t sit up all night unless you drink.” “We’ll finish the rubber and then stop,” his wife said comfortingly. “Do remember it’s not poker.” “I wish it were,” he exclaimed dolefully. “No partners--no reproaches--no post-mortems in poker. If you make a fool of yourself you lose your own money and everybody else is glad of it and gets cheerful.” “After this then, one round of jacks to please Michael,” said Alice. “And then quit,” Monty suggested. “I’m tired, too.” “I’m not tired,” Michael asserted. “I’m only thirsty. It takes this form with me. When I’m thirsty--” Michael stopped in consternation. Overhead, from all parts of the house, came the mechanical announcement that burglars had broken in. The four rose simultaneously from the table. “Burglars!” cried Michael, looking from one to the other. “Good Heavens!” Nora gasped. “What shall we do?” cried Alice. “It’s gone off by accident,” Monty asserted quivering, as there came suddenly the sound of a shot. “Somebody’s killed!” Alice exclaimed, with an air of certainty. Michael was the first to recover his poise. “Monty,” he commanded sternly, “go and find what’s the matter. I’ll look after the girls.” Alice looked at him entreatingly. “You’d better go,” she said; “I shall feel safer if you see what it is. You’re not afraid, Michael?” “Certainly not,” he said with dignity. “Of course they’re armed. Hello, who’s here?” It was Lambart entering, bearing in his hand a .45 revolver.