"GOODNESS! What's that?" whispered Lady Jane, starting violently.

For what seemed to them many hours, she and Thomas Trotter had sat, quite snugly comfortable, in the dark air-chamber. Comfortable, I say, but I fear that the bewildering joy of having her in his arms rendered him impervious to what under other conditions would most certainly have been a severe strain upon his physical endurance. In other words, she rested very comfortably and cosily in the crook of his arm, her head against his shoulder, while he, sitting bolt upright with no support whatsoever—But why try to provide him with cause for complaint when he was so obviously contented?

Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the roar and crash of an ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation rolled and rumbled and dwindled away into the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter of falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up and clutched his arm convulsively.

"Rain," he said, with a short laugh. For an instant his heart had stood still. So appalling was the crash that he involuntarily raised an arm to shield his beloved companion from the shattered walls that were so soon to tumble about their ears. "Beating on the tin roof," he went on, jerkily.

"Oh,—wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?"

"I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago. Lord, I thought it was all over."

"If we could only see!" she cried nervously.

"Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet."

By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was deafening.

"Goodness, Eric,—it's—it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly, after a long silence.

"That's the trouble with these ramshackle old—Oh, I say, Jane, your frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve."

He set out,—on all fours,—cautiously to explore.

"I—I am frightfully afraid of thunder," she cried out after him, a quaver in her voice. "And, Eric, wouldn't it be dreadful if the building were to be struck by lightning and we should be found up here in this—this unexplainable loft? What could we say?"

"Nothing, dearest," he replied, consolingly. "That is, provided the lightning did its work properly. Ouch! It's all right! Don't bother, dear. Nothing but a wall. Seems dry over here. Don't move. I'll come back for you."

"It's—it's rather jolly, isn't it?" she cried nervously as his hand touched her shoulder. She grasped it eagerly. "Much jollier than if we could see." A few moments later: "Isn't it nice and dry over here. How clever of you, Eric, to find it in the dark."

On their hands and knees they had crept to the place of shelter, and were seated on a broad, substantial beam with their backs against a thin, hollow-sounding partition. The journey was not without incident. As they felt their way over the loose and sometimes widely separated boards laid down to protect the laths and plaster of the ceiling below, his knee slipped off and before he could prevent it, his foot struck the lathing with considerable force.

"Clumsy ass!" he muttered.

After a long time, she said to him,—a little pathetically:

"I hope M. Mirabeau doesn't forget we are up here."

"I should hope not," he said fervently. "Mrs. Millidew is going out to dinner this evening. I'd—"

"Oh-h!" she whispered tensely. "Look!"

A thin streak of light appeared in front of them. Fascinated, they watched it widen, slowly,—relentlessly.

The trap-door was being raised from below. A hand and arm came into view,—the propelling power.

"Is that you, de Bosky?" called out Trotter, in a penetrating whisper.

Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back on the scantlings with a bang.

The head and shoulders of a man,—a bald-headed man, at that,—rose quickly above the ledge, and an instant later a lighted lantern followed.

"Oh, dear!" murmured Lady Jane, aghast. "It—it isn't Mr. de Bosky, Eric. It's that man."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, setting the lantern down in order to brush the dust off of his hands. "Are you there?"

"What is the meaning of this, sir?" demanded the young man on the beam, blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed glare.

Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on the ledge. The light of the lantern shone full on his face, revealing the slow but sure growth of a joyous grin.

"Permit me to introduce myself, your lordship. Mr. Alfred Chambers, of—"

"I know,—I know!" broke in the other impatiently. "What the devil do you want?"

"Good evening, Miss Emsdale," said Mr. Chambers, remembering his manners. "That is to say,—your ladyship. 'Pon my word, you can't possibly be more surprised than I am,—either of you. I shouldn't have dreamed of looking in this—this stuffy hole for—for anything except bats." He chortled.

"I can't understand why some one below there doesn't knock that ladder from under you," said Mr. Trotter rudely.

"I was on the point of giving up in despair," went on Mr. Chambers, unoffended. "You know, I shouldn't have thought of looking up here for you."

His quarry bethought himself of the loyal, conspiring friends below.

"See here, Mr. Chambers," he began earnestly, "I want you to understand that those gentlemen downstairs are absolutely innocent of any criminal complicity in—"

"I understand perfectly," interrupted the man from Scotland Yard. "Perfectly. And the same applies to her ladyship. Everything's as right as rain, your lordship. Will you be so good, sir, as to come down at once?"

"Certainly," cried the other. "With the greatest pleasure. Come, Jane,—"

"Wait!" protested Jane. "I sha'n't move an inch until he promises to—to listen to reason. In the first place, this gentleman is a Mr. Trotter," she went on rapidly, addressing the head and shoulders behind the lantern. "You will get yourself into a jolly lot of trouble if you—"

"Thanks, Jane dear," interrupted her lover gently. "It's no use. He knows I am Eric Temple,—so we'll just have to make the best of it."

"He doesn't know anything of the kind," said she. "He noticed a resemblance, that's all."

Mr. Chambers beamed.

"Quite so, your ladyship. I noticed it at once. If I do say it myself, there isn't a man in the department who has anything on me when it comes to that sort of thing. The inspector has frequently mentioned—"

"By the way, Mr. Snooper, will you be kind enough to—"

"Chambers, your lordship," interrupted the detective.

"Kind enough to explain how you discovered that we were up here?"

"Well, you see we were having our coffee,—after a most excellent dinner, your lordship, prepared, I am bound to say, for your discussion by the estimable Mr. Bramble,—"

"Dinner? By George, you remind me that I am ravenously hungry. It must be quite late."

"Half-past eight, sir,—approximately. As I was saying, we were enjoying our coffee,—the three of us only,—"

Trotter made a wry face. "In that case, Mrs. Millidew will sack me in the morning, Jane. I had orders for eight sharp."

"It really shouldn't matter, your lordship," said Mr. Chambers cheerfully. "Not in the least, if I may be so bold as to say so. However, to continue, sir. Or rather, to go back a little if I may. You see, I was rather certain you were hiding somewhere about the place. At least, I was certain her ladyship was. She came in and she didn't go out, if you see what I mean. I insisted on my right to search the premises. Do you follow me, sir?"

"Reluctantly."

"In due time, I came to the little dining-room, where I discovered the cook preparing dinner. You were not in evidence, your ladyship. I do not mind in the least confessing that I was ordered out by the cook. I retired to the clock-shop of M. Mirabeau and sat down to wait. The Polish young gentleman was there. As time went on, Mr. Bramble joined us. They were extremely ill-at-ease, your lordship, although they tried very hard to appear amused and unconcerned. The slightest noise caused them to fidget. Once, to test them, I stealthily dropped my pocket knife on the floor. Now, you would say, wouldn't you, that so small an object as a pen-knife—but that's neither here nor there. They jumped,—every blessed one of them. Presently the young Polish gentleman, whose face is strangely familiar to me,—I must have seen him in London,—announced that he was obliged to depart. A little later on,—you see, it was quite dark by this time,—the clockmaker prepared to close up for the night. Mr. Bramble looked at his watch two or three times in rapid succession, notwithstanding the fact that he was literally surrounded by clocks. He said he feared he would have to go and see about the dinner,—and would I kindly get out. I—"

"They should have called in the police," interrupted his male listener indignantly. "That's what I should have done, confound your impudence."

"Ah, now there is a point I should have touched upon before," explained Mr. Chambers, casting an uneasy glance down into the room below. "I may as well confess to you,—quite privately and confidentially, of course, your lordship,—that I—er—rather deceived the old gentlemen. Do not be alarmed. I am quite sure they can't hear what I am saying. You see. I told them in the beginning that I had surrounded the place with policemen and plain-clothes men. They—"

"And hadn't you?" demanded Mr. Trotter quickly, a reckless light appearing in his eyes.

"Not at all, sir,—not at all. Why should I? I am quite capable of handling the case single-handed. The less the police had to do with it the better for all parties concerned. Still, it was necessary to frighten them a little. Otherwise, they might have ejected me—er—bodily, if you know what I mean. Or, for that matter, they might have called in the police, as you suggest. So I kept them from doing either by giving them to understand that if there was to be any calling of the police it would be I who would do it with my little whistle."

He paused to chuckle.

"You are making a long story of it," growled Mr. Trotter.

"I beg your pardon, sir. The interruptions, you see,—ahem! I followed Mr. Bramble to the dining-room. He was very nervous. He coughed a great deal, and very loudly. I was quite convinced that you were secreted somewhere about the place, but, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine where."

"I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that we might have gone down the back stairway and escaped into the side-street," said Mr. Trotter sarcastically.

Mr. Chambers cleared his throat and seemed curiously embarrassed.

"Perhaps I should have stated before that a—er—a chap from a local agency was posted at the bottom of the kitchen stairway,—as a favour to me, so to speak. A chap who had been detailed to assist me,—But I shall explain all that in my report. So, you see, you couldn't have gone out that way without—Yes, yes,—as I was saying, I accompanied Mr. Bramble to the dining-room. The cook was in a very bad temper. The dinner was getting cold. I observed that three places had been laid. Fixing my eye upon Mr. Bramble I inquired who the third place was for. I shall never forget his expression, nor the admirable way in which he recovered himself. He was quite wonderful. He said it was for me. Rather neat of him, wasn't it?"

"You don't mean to say you had the brass to—Well, 'pon my soul, Chambers, that was going it a bit strong."

"Under the circumstances, your lordship, I couldn't very well decline," said Mr. Chambers apologetically. "He is such a decent, loyal old chap, sir, that it would have been cruel to let him see that I knew he was lying."

"But, confound you, that was my dinner," exclaimed Trotter wrathfully.

"So I suspected, your lordship. I knew it couldn't be her ladyship's. Well, we had got on to the coffee, and I was just on the point of asking Mr. Bramble for the loan of an umbrella, when there was a loud thump on the ceiling overhead. An instant later a large piece of plaster fell to the floor, not three feet behind my chair. I—"

"By Jove! What a pity it didn't fall three feet nearer," exclaimed Trotter, a note of regret in his voice.

Mr. Chambers generously overlooked the remark.

"After that it was plain sailing," said he, quite pleasantly. "Now you know how I came to discover you, and how I happen to be here."

"And those poor old dears," cried Lady Jane in distress; "where are they? What have you done to them?"

"They are—" he looked downward again before answering—"yes, they are holding the ladder for me. Coming, gentlemen!" he called out. "We'll all be down in a jiffy."

"Before we go any farther," said Trotter seriously, "I should like to know just what the charge is against me."

"Beg pardon?"

"The charge. What are you going to chuck me into prison for?"

"Prison? My God, sir! Who said anything about prison?" gasped Mr. Chambers, staring wide-eyed at the young man.

Trotter leaned forward, his face a study in emotions. Lady Jane uttered a soft little cry.

"Then,—then they haven't trumped up some rotten charge against me?"

"They? Charge? I say!" He bellowed the last to the supporters below. "Hold this bally thing steady, will you? Do you want me to break my neck?"

"Well, don't jiggle it like that," came the voice of Mr. Bramble from below. "We can't hold it steady if you're going to dance on it."

Mr. Chambers once more directed his remarks to Mr. Trotter.

"So far as I am aware, Lord Temple, there is no—er—charge against you. The only complaint I know of is that you haven't kept your grandfather informed as to your whereabouts. Naturally he is a bit annoyed about it. You see, if you had dropped him a line occasionally—"

"Get on, man,—get on," urged Trotter excitedly.

"He wouldn't have been put to the expense of having a man detached from Scotland Yard to look the world over for you. Personal influence did it, of course. He went direct to the chief and asked for the best man in the service. I happened to be on another case at the time," explained Mr. Chambers modestly, "but they took me off at once and started me out. I—"

"In a nutshell, you represent my grandfather and not the King of England," interrupted Trotter.

"On detached duty," said Mr. Chambers.

"And you do not intend to arrest him?" cried Lady Jane.

"Bless me, no!" exclaimed Mr. Chambers.

"Then, what the deuce do you mean by frightening Miss Emsdale and my friends downstairs?" demanded Lord Fenlew's grandson. "Couldn't you have said in the beginning that there was no criminal charge against me?"

"I hadn't the remotest idea, your lordship, that any one suspected you of crime," said Mr. Chambers, with dignity.

"But, confound you, why didn't you explain the situation to Bramble? That was the sensible,—yes, the intelligent thing to do, Mr. Chambers."

"That is precisely what I did, your lordship, while we were at dinner,—we had a bottle of the wine Mr. Bramble says you are especially partial to,—but it wasn't until your heel came through the ceiling that they believed anything at all. Subsequently I discovered that her ladyship had prepared them for all sorts of trickery on my part. She had made them promise to die rather than give you up. Now that I see things as they are in a clear light, it occurs to me that your ladyship must have pretty thoroughly convinced the old gentlemen that Lord Temple is a fit subject for the gallows,—or at the very least, Newgate Prison. I fancy—"

Lady Jane laughed aloud, gaily, unrestrainedly.

"Oh, dear! What a mess I've made of things!" she cried. "Can you ever forgive me, Eric?"

"Never!" he cried, and Mr. Chambers took that very instant to stoop over for a word with the men at the foot of the ladder. He went farther and had several words with them. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he, in his eagerness to please, would have stretched it into a real chat if the object of his consideration had not cried out:

"And now let us get down from this stuffy place, Eric. I am sure there must be rats and all sorts of things up here. And it was such a jolly place before the lantern came."

"Can you manage it, sir?" inquired Mr. Chambers anxiously, as Eric prepared to lower her through the trap-door.

"Perfectly, thank you," said the young man. "If you will be good enough to stand aside and make room at the top of the ladder," he added, with a grin.

Mr. Chambers also grinned. "There's a difference between walking on air and standing on it," said he, and hurriedly went down the steps.

Presently they were all grouped at the foot of the ladder. Mr. Bramble was busily engaged in brushing the dust and cobwebs from the excited young lady's gown.

M. Mirabeau rattled on at a prodigious rate. He clapped Trotter on the back at least half-a-dozen times, and, forgetting most of his excellent English, waxed eloquent over the amazing turn of affairs. The literal, matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble after a time succeeded in stemming the flow of exuberance.

"If you don't mind, Mirabeau, I have a word I'd like to get in edgewise," he put in loudly, seizing an opportunity when the old Frenchman was momentarily out of breath.

M. Mirabeau threw up his hands.

"At a time like this?" he gasped incredulously.

"And why not?" said Mr. Bramble stoutly. "It's time we opened that last bottle of Chianti and drank to the health of Lord Eric Temple,—and the beautiful Lady Jane."

"The most sensible thing that has been uttered this evening," cried M. Mirabeau, with enthusiasm.

Lord Temple took this occasion to remind them,—and himself as well,—that he was still Thomas Trotter and that the deuce would be to pay with Mrs. Millidew.

"By George, she'll skin me alive if I've been the cause of her missing a good dinner," he said ruefully.

"That reminds me,—" began Mr. Bramble, M. Mirabeau and Mr. Chambers in unison. Then they all laughed uproariously and trooped into the dining-room, where the visible signs of destruction were not confined to the floor three feet back of the chair lately occupied by the man from Scotland Yard. A very good dinner had been completely wrecked.

Mrs. O'Leary, most competent of cooks, was already busily engaged in preparing another!

"Now, Mr. Chambers," cried Jane, as she set her wine glass down on the table and touched her handkerchief to her lips, "tell us everything, you dear good man."

Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment and with an unlimited amount of spare time on his hands, spent the better part of the first care-free hour he had known in months in the telling of his story.

In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as follows: Lord Fenlew, quietly, almost surreptitiously, had set about to ascertain just how much of truth and how much of fiction there was in the unpublished charges that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the Army and to seek obscurity that inevitably follows real or implied disgrace for one too proud to fight. His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing yet most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent member of the little clique responsible for the ugly stories, confessed that the "whole bally business" was a put-up job.

Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons on the grill. He grilled them properly; when they left his presence they were scorched to a crisp, unsavoury mess. Indeed, his lordship went so far as to complain of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew Hall opened to give the place a thorough airing after they had gone forth forevermore. With characteristic energy and promptness, he went to the head of the War Office, and laid bare the situation. With equal forethought and acumen he objected to the slightest publicity being given the vindication of Eric Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the matter until the maligned officer returned to England and to the corps from which he had resigned. He refused to have his grandson's innocence publicly advertised! That, he maintained, would be to start more tongues to wagging, and unless the young man himself were on the ground to make the wagging useless, speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and head-shakings, and the "bally business" would be in a worse shape than before. Moreover, he argued, it wasn't Eric's place to humiliate himself by admitting his innocence. He wouldn't have that at all.

Instead of beginning his search for the young man through the "lost," "wanted" or "personal" columns of an international press, he went to Scotland Yard. He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these: "If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather he will learn something to his advantage" or "Will the young English nobleman who left London under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So"; or "Eric: All is well. Return at once and be forgiving"; or "£5,000 reward will be paid for information concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple, grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall"; etc., etc.

"And now, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, after a minute and unsparing account of his own travels and adventures, "your grandfather is a very old man. I trust that you can start for England at once. I am authorized to draw upon him for all the money necessary to—"

Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were glistening, his breast was heaving mightily, and his voice shook with suppressed emotion as he said, scarcely above a whisper:

"First of all, I shall cable him tonight. He'd like that, you know. Better than anything."

"A word direct from you, dear," said Jane softly, happily. "It will mean more to him than anything else in the world."

"As you please, sir," said Mr. Chambers. "The matter is now entirely in your hands. I am, you understand, under orders not to return to England without you,—but, I leave everything to you, sir. I was only hoping that it would be possible for me to get back to my wife and babies before,—er,—well, I was about to say before they forget what I look like, but that would have been a stupid thing to say. They're not likely to forget a mug like mine."

"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I will have to be content to leave the matter of our departure entirely to the discretion of a third party," said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady Jane Thorne.

"Leave that to me, sir," said the man from Scotland Yard promptly and with decision, but with absolutely no understanding. "I shall be happy to attend to any little—Ow! Eh, what?"

M. Mirabeau's boot had come violently in contact with his ankle. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Bramble, at precisely the same instant, effected a sly but emphatic prod in the ribs.

"Ignoramus!" whispered the latter fiercely.

"Imbecile!" hissed the former, and then, noting the bewildered look in the eyes of Mr. Chambers, went on to say in his most suave manner: "Can't you see that you are standing in the presence of the Third Party?"

"Any fool could see that," said Mr. Chambers promptly, and bowed to Lady Jane. Later on he wanted to know what the deuce M. Mirabeau meant by kicking him on the shin.

"How soon can you be ready to start home, dear?" inquired Eric, ignoring the witnesses.

Jane's cheeks were rosy. Her blue eyes danced.

"It depends entirely on Mrs. Sparflight," said she.

"What has Mrs. Sparflight to do with it?"

"You dear silly, I can't go to Fenlew Hall with absolutely nothing to wear, can I?"