It was not what they expected. Their faces showed it; they were so unmistakably startled. They looked at each other, then at the unconscious woman, then back again at one another. Mr Burton bit his lip.

'Who the deuce is that?'

'Servants, perhaps.'

The suggestion was the Flyman's.

'Then confound the servants! Why can't they take a little extra time to-night? They know their mistress is away.'

The knocking came again--a regular rat-tat-tat.

'That's no servants. They wouldn't make that row.'

'You can never tell. Nowadays they make what row they please; they fancy themselves. Brutes!'

'Visitors, perhaps.'

'Confound them, whoever it is!'

They spoke in whispers, an appreciable pause between each man's speaking, as if each in turn waited for something to happen. Mr Burton was outwardly the most self-possessed, being the kind of man who would probably smile as he mounted the gallows. The Flyman had his eyes nearly shut, his fists clenched, his shoulders a little hunched, as if gathering himself together to resist a coming attack. Mr Thomas Cox was visibly tremulous; his great head twitched upon his shoulders; he was apparently in danger of physical collapse. It was curious to observe the contrasting attitudes of the three men as they stood about the recumbent woman.

The knocking was repeated, still more loudly, as if the knocker waxed impatient.

'We shall have to let 'em in. Anyhow, we shall have to see who's there. They'll knock the door down.'

This was the Flyman. Mr Cox suggested an alternative.

'Can't we--can't we get away? Isn't there another way out?'

Mr Burton enlightened him.

'My dear Cox, there's only one way into a flat, and there's only one way out, unless you try the window, which means a drop of perhaps a hundred feet. I'm not dropping. The Flyman's right; we shall have to see who's there. There needn't be trouble, unless you give yourself away. It depends who it is. I'll lay this dear little girl of mine upon her bed; she'll be more comfortable there, and not so conspicuous. I know which is her room. Then we'll see who's come to call on you.'

Displaying a degree of strength with which one would hardly have credited his slight figure, lifting Miss Casata off the floor, he bore her from the room. During his absence there came the knocking for the fourth time, this time furiously. When he returned, a marked change had taken place in his appearance. There were signs of strange disorder on his countenance, as if during his brief withdrawal he had been unstrung by some overwhelming shock. The Flyman at once observed his altered looks.

'What's happened? What's the matter?'

'Curse you, Flyman!'

'What have I done now?'

'I say, curse you!'

'Is she--dead?'

'No, she's not. I'm going to open the door. If it's the servants, I'll send them away, pretending to give them a message from her; if it's callers, I'll tell them a lie; if it's anybody who wants to make himself unpleasant, you two look out. I'm not going to be bluffed out of this before I've got that ruby.'

'Burton, be careful what you do, for all our sakes.'

This was Mr Cox. The retort was hardly courteous.

'You be hanged!'

Mr Burton reached the front door as the knocking was recommencing. From where they were they could not see what he did, but they could hear. They heard him open; a feminine voice inquire, in tones of indignation,--

'What's the meaning of this? Why am I kept waiting?'

Then the front door slammed, the drawing-room door was thrown violently open, and two young ladies came through it, one after the other, with such extremely indecorous rapidity as to suggest that they could scarcely be entirely responsible for their own proceedings, as, indeed, they were not. Mr Horace Burton had propelled them forward with his own right arm before they themselves had the least idea what was about to happen. And, following right upon their heels, he closed the drawing-room door, turned the key and stood with his back against it, surveying them with his habitual, benignant smile.

It was what they call upon the stage a tableau, The smiling gentleman, the two bewildered ladies, the two other almost equally bewildered men, for it was an open question which were the more surprised by the singularity of Mr Burton's behaviour--Miss Bewicke and Miss Broad or Mr Thomas Cox and the Flyman.

The peculiar nature of her reception seemed to have driven Miss Broad's wits completely from her. She gazed around like a woman startled out of sleep, who has no notion of what has roused her. Miss Bewicke had apparently retained some fragments of hers. She looked at Mr Burton, then at Mr Cox and the Flyman, then back at the gentleman who stood before the door. She eyed him up and down with a mixture, as it seemed, of amusement, anger and contempt. Could a voice have stung, hers would have stung him then. But this gentleman was pachydermatous.

'So it's you?'

'I guess it is.'

'How dare you come here?'

'That's the problem.'

'It's one which will soon be solved.'

She moved across the room. He checked her.

'It's no good your ringing the bell. There's no one to answer.'

As she turned to face him, Miss Broad spoke, with an apparent partial return to consciousness.

'Who is this person?'

'This person is Horace Burton, of whom you may have heard. I cannot tell you who the other persons are. They look as if they were friends of his.'

'So this is Horace Burton?'

Miss Broad regarded the gentleman in question as if he were some unclean thing, which, possibly, she considered him to be. He, on the other hand, continued genial as ever.

'And you're Miss Broad--Letty, I believe? I'm pleased to meet you, cousin that is to be.'

'Cousin--your cousin? I shall never be a cousin of yours.'

'No? That's hard on Guy. He's counting on the money.'

'You despicable creature!' She turned away, presenting him with a good view of her back, and put a question to Miss Bewicke. 'What is he doing here? Surely you don't allow him in your rooms?'

Mr Burton took upon himself to answer for the lady.

'I'll tell you what I'm doing here; she can't. I'm now for the first time going to tell her also. It'll be giving her a little piece of information which I know she'll value. Miss Bewicke, I've come here in search of a quarter of million of money.'

'Is that so? You really are too modest! It was surely scarcely worth your while to come for such a trifle! I need hardly say that you will find several little sums of that amount lying loose about the premises!'

'Indeed? Well, I want one; that's all.'

'Mr Burton, will you be so good as to leave my rooms?'

'I'll leave them on the wings of the wind, whatever that may be, when I have my uncle's ruby.'

'When you have what?'

'My uncle's ruby. My dear cousin Guy committed burglary here last night in quest of it, so I'm sure you won't mind my paying you a little call this evening as a sort of sequel.'

'I suppose Louise Casata told you about Mr Holland?'

'There's no charge for supposing.'

'Probably the same person also informed you that he went away with what he sought?'

'Did he, Miss Bewicke?'

'You had better refer to your informant.'

'I'm referring to you. I'm asking you if Guy Holland left these rooms last night in possession of my uncle's ruby?'

'Ask Miss Casata; ask your cousin even, but don't ask me.'

'I am asking you. You've been playing some confounded trick.'

'Mr Burton!'

'I don't wish to hurt your feelings, Miss Bewicke, so I'll say you've been amusing yourself with some dainty, delicate device, and I shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have that ruby on your person at this moment.'

Miss Bewicke, walking to the bell, pressed her finger against the button, so that it kept up a continuous ringing. Mr Burton watched her with a smile.

'You see, there's no one there. You might have taken my word.'

'Where is Miss Casata?'

'Where is she? That's the question. Where's everyone?'

'If I am unable to attract the attention of my own servants, thanks to you, my friends in the next flat will hear the unceasing tinkling of the bell, and guess that there is something wrong.'

'I should be sorry, Miss Bewicke, to have to seem rude to a lady--'

'On the contrary, I should imagine that few things would give you greater pleasure; you are that kind of person.'

'At the same time, I must request you to leave that bell alone.'

He went closer to her. His moving away from it left the door unguarded. Over her shoulder she shot a glance at Miss Broad. That young lady, catching it, perceived the little ruse she had been playing. Hurrying to the door, she began to turn the key, and had already unlocked it when Mr Burton came rushing back to the post which he had been beguiled into deserting.

'You darling!' he cried.

Seizing Miss Broad by the waist he dragged her from the door. As he whirled her round, she struck him with her clenched fist on his right ear, the blow being delivered with such good judgment, force and fortune that it carried the young gentleman clean off his feet and right over on to his back.

'Bravo!' exclaimed Miss Bewicke. 'Now, Letty, open the door!'

But Miss Bewicke was a little hasty in supposing that the road was free. As Mr Burton fell, he prevented Miss Broad from moving by clutching at her skirts. She struggled to release herself in vain; he gripped too tight. And the Flyman, hastening to occupy the fallen hero's place, confronted Miss Bewicke as she advanced.

'It's no good,' he observed. 'There's no road this way.'

She was not to be baffled without an effort.

'If you'll let me pass, I'll give you--'

'You won't give me anything, because you won't pass. Now, don't you be silly, or you'll be sorry. You won't bowl me over with a clip on the ear from your little fist.'

This was said because, encouraged, perhaps, by Miss Broad's success, Miss Bewicke showed signs of actual violence. The apparent recognition, however, of some peculiar quality on the face of the man in front of her caused her to relinquish her purpose, if it was ever formed. Instead, turning to Miss Broad, she took her by the hand.

'Come, quick!' she cried.

Mr Burton, reassured by the Flyman's arrival, loosed the lady's skirt as he ascended to his feet. The quick-witted proprietress of the rooms, taking instant advantage of Miss Broad's freedom, rushed her towards the door through which, not long since, he had carried Miss Casata. Divining their purpose, he tore after them as soon as he had regained his perpendicular.

'Stop them, you fools! Move yourself, Cox!'

But Mr Cox did not move himself. He remained motionless where he was standing, and Mr Burton, in spite of his impetuosity, was too late. They were not only through before he reached the door, but had banged it in his face, and turned the key on the other side. He shook the handle in vain.

'Open, you cats!'

They were not likely to comply with his civil invitation. He addressed himself to Mr Cox, on his face, all at once, a very peculiar look of pallor.

'I shouldn't be surprised if you swing for this.'

'Swing? For letting them through that door? Who do you think you're talking to?'

'I'm talking to you, my friend. What's the betting that your letting them through that door doesn't turn out a hanging matter for you? I'll take short odds.' He turned to the Flyman. 'Let me through there. There's another way into where they are; I'll see if I can get at them. You stay here, in case they try to double. Cox is no good. I'll be even with him for this.'

Mr Burton crossed to a door, which was on the other side of the little hall. Unlocked, it admitted him to the kitchen. From the kitchen he passed to another room, apparently where the servants slept. On the opposite side of this was still another door. He eyed it.

'If I remember rightly, that leads into her room.'

The door was locked; the key was in the lock upon the other side. He stooped to see; it was in a position which prevented anything being visible. He rattled the handle; rapped with his knuckles at the panel, without result. All was silent.

'It is her room. I wonder what they're up to? They're very still. They can't--'

He stopped, probably because the stillness of which he spoke was broken by a woman's cry--a mingling of surprise, anguish, fear. He retraced his steps towards the kitchen, whispering to himself two words,--

'They have!'

Taking the key from one side of the lock, replacing it in the other, he locked the door of the servants' room behind him. The key itself he pocketed.

'Except through the drawing-room, there's only this way out, so we've trapped you anyhow.'

As if to make assurance doubly sure, he locked the door of the kitchen also. Again he pocketed the key.