Well! I suppose this morning will show us. This morning, in about an hour's time, I suppose we are to go before the magistrate of this court, and to answer the "serious charge" that has been brought against us by Mr. Julius Rattenheimer. CHAPTER XXX OUT ON BAIL THERE! The much-dreaded ordeal is over. That is, it is over for the present. For we have been committed for trial, and that trial is still to come. We shall have to go on living somehow under a cloud of the blackest suspicion. But there's one ray of comfort that I find among the inky gloom of my (mental) surroundings. At least, there isn't going to be any more prison cell for us to-night! At least, I shall have a long and perfect and much-needed sleep in my delightfully luxurious white bed at the Hotel Cecil. For that's where we've returned for the day, to pack up a few more things before we accept Miss Vi Vassity's kindly invitation and return to the "Refuge"--a refuge indeed! It's too good of her to welcome two suspect characters such as my young mistress and me among her professional friends. The Breathing Statue, the Boy-Impersonator, the Serio, the emerald-green-tighted Acrobat Lady--these all dwell on the heights of respectability as far as their private characters are concerned. Of course, Marmora, the Twentieth-Century Hebe, is an arrant flirt, but a girl may be that and a model of propriety at the same time. This touch of nature never fails to exasperate, for some reason, any of the men who know her. The Ventriloquist's wife and the understudy to "Cigarette" in the Number Eleven Company of "Under Two Flags," there isn't a single word to be said against any of them! But what are we? Two alleged jewel thieves, out on bail! And even then Mrs. Rattenheimer protested loudly in court against "those two young women" being given bail at all! By that time Miss Million and I were so utterly crushed by all that had gone before that I verily believe neither of us felt that we deserved to be let out at large--no, not even though three of our friends were sureties for us to the tune of £300 each! I have come to the conclusion that it takes a born criminal to act and look like a perfectly innocent person when charged with a crime! It's the perfectly innocent person who looks the picture of guilt! At least I know that's what poor little Miss Million looked like as she stood beside me in the dock this morning. Her little face was as white as her handkerchief, her grey eyes were shrunk and red with crying and want of sleep. Her hair was "anyhow." Her small figure seemed more insignificant than ever.