"Jill's face," he said slowly. "Jill's face." He swung round and flung out an arm. "She looked old!" he cried. "Jill--that baby looked old. She thought it was a wire to say he was on his way, and it hit her between the eyes like the kick of a horse."

Shrunk into a corner of her chair, my sister stared dully before her.

"He must be bad," said I. "Unless he was bad, he 'ld never have wired like that. If Piers could have done it, I'm sure he 'ld have tempered the wind."

"'Can you come?'" quoted Berry, and threw up his arms.

Daphne began to cry quietly....

A glance at the tea-things showed me that these were untouched. I rang the bell, and pleasantly fresh tea was brought. I made my sister drink, and poured some for Berry and me. The stimulant did us all good. By common consent, we thrust speculation aside and made what arrangements we could. That our plans for returning to England would now miscarry seemed highly probable.

At last my sister sighed and lay back in her chair.

"Why?" she said quietly. "Why? What has Jill done to earn this? Oh, I know it's no good questioning Fate, but it's--it's rather hard."

I stepped to her side and took her hand in mine.

"My darling," I said, "don't let's make the worst of a bad business.

The going's heavy, I know, but it's idle to curse the jumps before we've seen them. Piers didn't send that wire himself. That goes without saying. He probably never worded it. I know that's as broad as it's long, but, when you come to think, there's really no reason on earth why it should be anything more than a broken leg."

There was a dubious silence.

At length--

"Boy's perfectly right," said Berry. "Jill's scared stiff--naturally.

As for us, we're rattled--without good reason at all. For all we know...."

He broke off to listen.... The front door closed with a crash.

"Jonah," said I. "He's had my note, and----"

It was not Jonah.

It was Piers, Duke of Padua, who burst into the room, looking extraordinarily healthy and very much out of breath.

We stared at him, speechless.

For a moment he stood smiling. Then he swept Daphne a bow.

"Paris to Pau by air," he said, "in four and a quarter hours. Think of it. Clean across France in a bit of an afternoon. You'll all _have_ to do it: it's simply glorious." He crossed to my sister's side and kissed her hand. "Don't look so surprised," he said, laughing. "It really is me. I didn't dare to wire, in case we broke down on the way.

And now where's Jill?"

We continued to stare at him in silence.

It was Berry--some ten minutes later--who hit the right nail on the head.

"By George!" he shouted. "By George! I've got it in one. _The fellow who sent that wire was Leslie Trunk_."

"_Leslie?_" cried Piers. "But why----"

"Who knows? But your cousin's a desperate man, and Jill's in his way.

So are you--more still, but, short of murder itself, to touch you won't help his case. With Jill in his hands.... Well, for one thing only, I take it you'd pay pretty high for her--her health."

Piers went very white.

For myself, I strove to keep my brain steady, but the thought of Adele--my wife, in the power of the dog, would thrust itself, grinning horribly, into the foreground of my imagination.

I heard somebody say that the hour was a quarter past seven. I had my watch in my hand, so I knew they were right. Vainly they repeated their statement, unconsciously voicing my thoughts....

Only when Daphne fell on her knees by my side did I realise that I was the speaker.

Berry and Piers were at the telephone.

I heard them.

"Ask for the Bordeaux Exchange. Burn it, why can't I talk French? Do as I say, lad. Don't argue. Ask for the Bordeaux Exchange. Insist that it's urgent--a matter of life and death."

Piers began to speak--shakily.

"Yes. The Bordeaux Exchange.... It's most urgent, _Mademoiselle_....

A matter of life and death.... Yes, yes. The Exchange itself....

What? My G.o.d! But, _Mademoiselle_----"

A sudden rude thresh of the bell announced that his call was over.

Berry fell upon the instrument with an oath.

"It's no good!" cried Piers. "It's no good. She says the line to Bordeaux is out of order."

My sister lifted her head and looked into my face.

"Can you do it by car?" she said.

I pulled myself together and thought very fast.

"We can try," I said, rising, "but---- Oh, it's a hopeless chance.

Only three hours--_less than_ three hours for a hundred and fifty miles. It can't be done. We'd have to do over seventy most of the way, and you can't beat a pace like that out of Ping and Pong. On the track, perhaps.... But on the open road----"

The soft slush of tires upon the drive cut short my sentence.

"Jonah, at last," breathed Daphne.

We ran to the window.

It was not Jonah.