“Ha!” said William.
Jane’s lips parted, but no sound came from them. She staggered back a pace or two. William, advancing into the centre of the room, folded his arms and gazed at her with burning eyes.
“So,” said William, and the words seemed forced like drops of vitriol from between his clenched teeth, “I find you here, dash it!”
Jane choked convulsively. Years ago, when an innocent child, she had seen a conjurer produce a rabbit out of a top-hat which an instant before had been conclusively proved to be empty. The sudden apparition of William affected her with much the same sensations as she had experienced then.
“How-ow-ow—?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” said William, coldly.
“How-ow-ow—?”
“Explain yourself,” said William.
“How-ow-ow did you get here? And who-oo-oo are these men?”
William seemed to become aware for the first time of the presence of his two companions. He moved a hand in a hasty gesture of introduction.
“Mr. Reginald Brown and Mr. Cyril Delancey—my wife,” he said, curtly.
The two men bowed slightly and raised their bowler hats.
“Pleased to meet you,” said one.
“Most awfully charmed,” said the other.
“They are detectives,” said William.
“Detectives!”
“From the Quick Results Agency,” said William. “When I became aware of your clandestine intrigues, I went to the agency and they gave me their two best men.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Brown, blushing a little.
“Most frightfully decent of you to put it that way,” said Mr. Delancey.
William regarded Jane sternly.
“I knew you were going to be here at four o’clock,” he said. “I overheard you making the assignation on the telephone.”
“Oh, William!”
“Woman,” said William, “where is your paramour?”
“Really, really,” said Mr. Delancey, deprecatingly.
“Keep it clean,” urged Mr. Brown.
“Your partner in sin, where is he? I am going to take him and tear him into little bits and stuff him down his throat and make him swallow himself.”
“Fair enough,” said Mr. Brown.
“Perfectly in order,” said Mr. Delancey.
Jane uttered a stricken cry.
“William,” she screamed, “I can explain all.”
“All?” said Mr. Delancey.
“All?” said Mr. Brown.
“All,” said Jane.
“All?” said William.
“All,” said Jane.
William sneered bitterly.
“I’ll bet you can’t,” he said.
“I’ll bet I can,” said Jane.
“Well?”
“I came here to save Anastatia.”
“Anastatia?”
“Anastatia.”
“My sister?”
“Your sister.”
“His sister Anastatia,” explained Mr. Brown to Mr. Delancey in an undertone.
“What from?” asked William.
“From Rodney Spelvin. Oh, William, can’t you understand?”
“No, I’m dashed if I can.”
“I, too,” said Mr. Delancey, “must confess myself a little fogged. And you, Reggie?”
“Completely, Cyril,” said Mr. Brown, removing his bowler hat with a puzzled frown, examining the maker’s name, and putting it on again.
“The poor child is infatuated with this man.”
“With the bloke Spelvin?”
“Yes. She is coming here with him at four o’clock.”
“Important,” said Mr. Brown, producing a notebook and making an entry.
“Important, if true,” agreed Mr. Delancey.
“But I heard you making the appointment with the bloke Spelvin over the phone,” said William.
“He thought I was Anastatia. And I came here to save her.”
William was silent and thoughtful for a few moments.
“It all sounds very nice and plausible,” he said, “but there’s just one thing wrong. I’m not a very clever sort of bird, but I can see where your story slips up. If what you say is true, where is Anastatia?”
“Just coming in now,” whispered Jane. “Hist!”
“Hist, Reggie!” whispered Mr. Delancey.
They listened. Yes, the front door had banged, and feet were ascending the staircase.
“Hide!” said Jane, urgently.
“Why?” said William.
“So that you can overhear what they say and jump out and confront them.”
“Sound,” said Mr. Delancey.
“Very sound,” said Mr. Brown.
The two detectives concealed themselves in the alcove. William retired behind the curtains in front of the window. Jane dived behind the Chesterfield. A moment later the door opened.
Crouching in her corner, Jane could see nothing, but every word that was spoken came to her ears; and with every syllable her horror deepened.
“Give me your things,” she heard Rodney say, “and then we will go upstairs.”
Jane shivered. The curtains by the window shook. From the direction of the alcove there came a soft scratching sound, as the two detectives made an entry in their notebooks.
For a moment after this there was silence. Then Anastatia uttered a sharp, protesting cry.
“Ah, no, no! Please, please!”
“But why not?” came Rodney’s voice.
“It is wrong—wrong.”
“I can’t see why.”
“It is, it is! You must not do that. Oh, please, please don’t hold so tight.”
There was a swishing sound, and through the curtains before the window a large form burst. Jane raised her head above the Chesterfield.
William was standing there, a menacing figure. The two detectives had left the alcove and were moistening their pencils. And in the middle of the room stood Rodney Spelvin, stooping slightly and grasping Anastatia’s parasol in his hands.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why is it wrong to hold the dam’ thing tight?” He looked up and perceived his visitors. “Ah, Bates,” he said, absently. He turned to Anastatia again. “I should have thought that the tighter you held it, the more force you would get into the shot.”
“But don’t you see, you poor zimp,” replied Anastatia, “that you’ve got to keep the ball straight. If you grip the shaft as if you were a drowning man clutching at a straw and keep your fingers under like that, you’ll pull like the dickens and probably land out of bounds or in the rough. What’s the good of getting force into the shot if the ball goes in the wrong direction, you cloth-headed goof?”
“I see now,” said Rodney, humbly. “How right you always are!”
“Look here,” interrupted William, folding his arms. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You want to grip firmly but lightly,” said Anastatia.
“Firmly but lightly,” echoed Rodney.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“And with the fingers. Not with the palms.”
“What is the meaning of this?” thundered William. “Anastatia, what are you doing in this man’s rooms?”
“Giving him a golf lesson, of course. And I wish you wouldn’t interrupt.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rodney, a little testily. “Don’t interrupt, Bates, there’s a good fellow. Surely you have things to occupy you elsewhere?”
“We’ll go upstairs,” said Anastatia, “where
