When Lady Kathleen bade good-bye to Westerham she drove first to Downing Street, where she met her father.

Together they travelled down to Trant Hall, and on the way Kathleen gave Lord Penshurst a full account of all that had passed since she had been summoned so suddenly to Rouen.

The Premier sat with bowed head, holding his daughter's hand as he listened to her narrative. For the moment it seemed to crush him utterly, and when Kathleen had finished speaking he lifted up his head and said, in a stricken way:

“So this is the end of it?” He added, after a few moments: “Are you sure that a week is the full limit of time we can obtain?”

“I am only too certain,” answered Kathleen. “If we fail within the next week, then——” she broke off and looked apprehensively about her as though even the cushions of the carriage might have ears. Finally she bent her head and whispered into her father's ear.

At this Lord Penshurst grew paler than before, while great drops of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“That,” he cried, “must never be! Kathleen, great though the sacrifice is, you must make it—make it for our country's sake. Oh! to think that I should have wished to serve her so well and should have served her so evilly.”

For a long time after this Lord Penshurst and his daughter sat in silence as the train ran on through the night. It was not, indeed, until they had reached Trant Hall and had a little supper, for it was now very late, that Kathleen ventured again to broach the subject of Westerham.

She was almost ghastly in her paleness, but was entirely calm and self-possessed.

“Father,” she said, patting the old man's hand as he sat staring before him as though fascinated by some mental vision of pain and horror, “let us try and see what we can do in this matter on a business-like basis.”

The aged Premier nodded his head, but he still gazed steadily before him.

“Don't you think,” urged Kathleen, “that you owe it to me to leave no stone unturned to defeat Melun before the week is out? Melun we cannot catch. You tried to do so, and Claude has tried to do so during the last few days, but the man is as elusive as an eel. Why not take this man Westerham to a certain extent on trust? Of course, you will laugh at me, and say that I am merely guided by a feminine habit of jumping to conclusions. Nevertheless, I am perfectly convinced that Mr. James Robinson is Sir Paul Westerham, and that if we were only to take him into our confidence he could do much to help us.”

“My child,” said the old man, looking at his daughter in a piteous way, “it is, as you know, simply impossible. We have neither of us been released from our oath of silence, and it would be most disgraceful of us to break our word. Indeed, it would be absolutely indefensible, unless by breaking it we were absolutely certain we could save the situation.”

“Why not ask Sir Paul Westerham to help us without telling him anything?” suggested Kathleen.

“Do you think any man would be such a fool as to serve us on those terms?” asked the Premier.

“But he has promised to do so,” cried Kathleen.

Lord Penshurst, however, remained obstinate.

“No! no! my dear!” he said. “It's quite out of the question. It would arouse considerable comment if we were to postpone this dance to-morrow—there is no legitimate excuse for doing so. Let us get it over and then we will together see what can be done.

“We cannot even take Claude into our confidence, but I can at least give him carte blanche to take any steps that he deems necessary. And Claude is not a fellow, thank goodness, to stick at much if we have anything at stake.”

He rose from his chair, and coming over to his daughter's side stroked her hair gently.

He did not tell Lady Kathleen so, but on one point the old man had made up his mind. Outwardly he was encouraging Lady Kathleen to brace herself for the sacrifice which appeared inevitable, but he had in reality resolved upon another course, even though it meant for him suicide or the gallows.

All through the following day Kathleen moved through the great house silently superintending the arrangements for the ball.

During the afternoon the majority of the house-party arrived, and at dinner-time both Lord Penshurst and Lady Kathleen had to throw off their gloom as best they could and devote all their minds and energies to the entertainment of their guests.

Two or three great singers had come down from London, and there was music in the grand saloon. It was then that young Hilden sought out Lady Kathleen and drew her apart from the guests.

“Kathleen,” he said to his cousin, “I want to have a very serious talk with you. During the past three weeks your father has asked me to do a great many extraordinary things, and I have not scrupled to carry out any of his instructions, though they have involved a considerable amount of law-breaking.

“I don't know what all this business is about. I assure you I have not the slightest idea, nor have I the least wish to pry into my uncle's secrets; but at the same time, I am growing very uneasy. This mystery, whatever it may be, is weighing on him greatly. He has completely changed in the last month; he is becoming an old and almost broken man. I do not wish to alarm you, but I feel that I ought to open your eyes to this in case it may have escaped you.”

“It is very kind of you,” said Kathleen, wearily, “but I have noticed it myself, and am very much distressed.”

“Then why not be more explicit?” urged Hilden. “Why not tell me what this matter is about? Surely I could take some of the burden off your shoulders. It is a most amazing thing—and I think, with all due respect to your father—a very wrong thing that a trouble of this sort—and I can see it is a great trouble—should be foisted on to the shoulders of a mere girl.”

Kathleen looked at him sadly and wistfully.

“I wish I could tell you, Claude,” she said, “but unfortunately I am pledged to secrecy. I think it is more likely that my father will speak to you about the matter to-morrow, though I fear that he will tell you nothing more than you know at present.

“He may, however, ask you to do several more strange things. You have offered to help us, and so let me implore you to help us by doing everything that you are asked, no matter what it may involve.”

“Kathleen,” cried Hilden, taking her hands and looking into her eyes, “you know very well that there is nothing that I would not do for your sake.”

She thanked him, and drawing away her hands left him, weighed down with a terrible oppression. Her own thoughts frightened her. She was conscious of a dreadful desire for a man's death. She prayed to be delivered from the sin of hoping that she might escape disgrace at the cost of a man's life.

The ball began at about half-past ten, and for an hour before that motor-cars and carriages had been rolling up the long sweep of drive, and the reception-rooms had been filling with the power, the wealth, and the beauty of the country.

By her father's side Kathleen stood at the head of the grand staircase to receive the guests. And one after the other, with misdirected kindness, they murmured their regret to see Kathleen looking so far from well. Her father glanced round impatiently at every such expression, till from the pallor born of the despair which was settling down upon her heart Kathleen's face assumed a vivid flush, due to agitation and annoyance; so that from looking wan and ill her beauty became feverish and radiant.

Hilden, hovering near, felt his heart aching.

By eleven o'clock all the guests had arrived, and the grand staircase and reception saloon were alike deserted, while the ball-room was thronged with dancers and those who watched the dancing.

Lord Penshurst had long been famous as a host, and Lady Kathleen, in spite of her youth, was already numbered among the great hostesses of the country.

The scene, indeed, was full of splendour, and, as Melun's greedy mind had anticipated, the jewels of the women must have been worth upwards of half a million.

The slow, low music of a waltz was stealing down from the gallery, where the musicians were placed, when Lord Penshurst, who had just entered from the grand staircase, was conscious of some disturbance in the hall. For a moment he did not inquire what the cause of the upset might be; and it was, perhaps, just as well for him that he did not.

Up the drive had swept three great motor-cars, which had drawn up in a curious formation before the great entrance. Their concentrated head and side lights faced the door, so that the servants who stood about the hall were almost blinded by the glare.

From the cars descended a score of men in evening dress. But as they came into the more subdued light of the hall the keen eyes of the servants stationed there were quick to see that, in spite of their shirt-fronts and their opera-hats, these men were not gentlemen.

The arrival of so many men at once took the groom of the chambers aback, but he hurried forward to meet the guests, thinking that possibly this might be some surprise party.

His hospitable intention, however, met with a rude check, for he had scarcely taken half a dozen steps forward when he found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.

A pleasant, easy voice called on him to stop, and the man stood stockstill, staring stupidly straight in front of him, half-fearfully and half-fascinated by the glint of the six-shooter.

The other men poured in quietly and quickly and formed a semi-circle about the door.

Three of their number remained outside, covering with their revolvers the two country constables who had been on special duty for the purpose of controlling the traffic.

All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces right down to their chins being hidden in black crape.

The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the groom of the chambers back; and the man and his fellow-servants retreated before the advance of the strange intruders.

A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the handful of men-servants penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept the passages closed against all comers.

At the head of about twelve men the leader walked swiftly towards the door of the ball-room, where he met Lord Penshurst face to face. For the Prime Minister, growing uneasy at the continued movement in the hall, had come out himself to see what might be on foot.

“Get back, Lord Penshurst,” said the leader, still in a pleasant and easy voice; “get back or I will not answer for your life.”

The Prime Minister checked himself, but craned his head forward.

“By heaven!” he said in a low voice, “I believe that is you, Melun.”

“Never mind who I may be, but keep your tongue still. Unless you wish to be quieted, kindly refrain from mentioning names in my presence.

“Now turn about, if you please, and get back to the ball-room.”

At this sudden confrontation by danger the Prime Minister's troubles were for the moment forgotten, and he was again the strong, courageous man that he had once been. He looked straight and steadily at the veiled eyes of the intruder, and declined to turn about. Instead, he retreated backwards step by step.

The music in the ball-room had effectually drowned any noise of the disturbance except to those who stood nearer to the door.

Among these was Hilden. He had followed hard upon the Prime Minister's footsteps, and had, at a glance, taken in the position of affairs.

Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across the hall towards the little alcove in which he knew were placed the telephone and the police call.

As he approached the alcove, however, he was brought to a standstill by a man with a revolver.

Melun noted his progress, and turned about and cried, “Keep that gentleman away. If he moves another yard—shoot!”

Young Hilden threw one contemptuous glance at Melun and walked on. The man hesitated to fire.

“Fire! you fool,” shouted Melun, but the man still held his hand and hesitated so long that Hilden had gripped the barrel of his revolver in his left hand before the fellow quite realised what was happening.

If the man had scruples, Melun had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Hilden, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.

Turning from his butcher's work, Melun whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Lady Kathleen.

“Will you take your daughter away, Lord Penshurst?” he said in a low voice. “It is not my fault that she has been compelled to look on this.”

The Prime Minister grasped Kathleen by the arm and drew her into the ball-room. Melun closed in on him and the other men followed.

As they entered the room they spread themselves out fanwise in an obviously prearranged plan.

Coolly and deliberately Melun discharged his revolver at the painted ceiling overhead, bringing down a little cloud of plaster.

The orchestra stopped in the middle of a bar, the dancers came to a halt, and all those guests who had been sitting round the ball-room leapt with cries to their feet.

“Silence!”

Melun's voice rung out clear and hard.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “I have no desire to create a disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well.”

Turning for a second to Lord Penshurst, he said, “Get back to the middle of the ball-room.”

The Prime Minister had no other course but to obey.

Melun next proceeded to deal with those guests who were nearest to the door.

“All of you,” he said in a tone of easy command, “all of you get back beyond the chandelier.”

He pointed to the great cut-glass candelabra which hung from the ceiling.

Here and there a woman gave a little scream, but for the most part the people who had been so rudely disturbed were very quiet.

Melun watched the retreat through his mask, and when all the guests had crowded together at the end of the room he gave them further orders.

“All the men step to the front!”

The men looked angrily and defiantly at Melun and his companions, but they had no option in the matter, for a dozen revolvers were pointed in their direction with unwavering nozzles.

Sullenly, angrily, the men came forward, and formed a long chain before the women, who clung together in terror or sat huddled on chairs, holding their faces in their hands. There was a pause, and Lord Penshurst turned towards his guests.

“My friends,” he cried, “I greatly regret this outrage. Any loss which you may suffer at the hands of these thieves I will, of course, make good, but let me implore you to do everything in your power to prevent any bloodshed.”

“Be silent!” thundered Melun. “You were not asked to speak. Lady Kathleen, will you be kind enough to leave your father and join the other ladies?”

Lady Kathleen faced him with flaming eyes. “No!” she cried. “My place is by my father's side.”

She took her father's arm and stood the very picture of defiance, looking scornfully at Melun and his men.

“Very well,” said Melun, quietly; “have your own way.”

“Now we will proceed to business,” he continued, “and I will ask you ladies and gentlemen to be quick; my time is short, and if we are to leave free of interference there is not much time to spare.

“You, gentlemen,” he said, addressing the men, “collect all the jewellery that the ladies hand you, pass it on, and throw it here.” He pointed to the floor at his feet.

The men hesitated, looking one to another; and one boy, more bold than the rest, jumped forward and cried, “Never! you dirty scoundrel!” And he dashed across the floor towards Melun.

Melun let him come on, and it said something for the coolness of the man that he did not even fire, but waited till the lad was upon him. Then he swung round, and catching him on the back of the ear with the butt of his pistol, sent him sprawling senseless to the floor.

After that there was no demonstration of any kind. With almost feverish haste the women began plucking the jewels from their hair and from their bosoms, from their wrists and from their necks. Trembling, they handed them to the men standing in a row before them.

One by one bracelets and necklets and tiaras were tossed on to the floor at Melun's feet until there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels.

And then it became obvious that Melun had provided against every contingency and had counted on complete success.

For at a word from him one of the masked men came forward with a rough sack, into which he threw the jewels with as much care as he might have bestowed upon a heap of coals.

When the fellow had gathered them all up Melun made a little bow of mockery.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have to thank you for your hospitality and for your generosity. With your kind permission I will now withdraw.”

Suddenly a bold, clear, full voice spoke from the little gallery in which the musicians sat cowering.

“Unfortunately,” said the voice, “I fear that you have not my permission.”

All the guests started and turned involuntarily to see whence came the challenge. Melun looked up quickly and stood staring with amazement.

For stepping down the staircase which led from the little gallery came Westerham, smiling serenely.