"Drunk!" Bella said with conviction. But I didn't think so. There
had not been time enough, for one thing. Suddenly I remembered
the ambulance that had been the cause of Bella's appearance--for
no one could believe her silly story about Takahiro. I didn't
wait to voice my suspicion to her; I simply left her there,
staring helplessly at the confusion, and ran upstairs again:
through the dining room, past Jimmy and Aunt Selina, past Leila
Mercer and Max, who were flirting on the stairs, up, up to the
servants' bedrooms, and there my suspicions were verified. There
was every evidence of a hasty flight; in three bedrooms five
trunks stood locked and ominous, and the closets yawned with open
doors, empty. Bella had been right; there was not a servant in
the house.

As I emerged from the untidy emptiness of the servants' wing, I
met Mr. Harbison coming out of the studio.

"I wish you would let me do some of this running about for you,
Mrs. Wilson," he said gravely. "You are not well, and I can't
think of anything worse for a headache. Has the butler's illness
clogged the household machinery?"

"Worse," I replied, trying not to breathe in gasps. "I wouldn't
be running around--like this--but there is not a servant in the
house! They have gone, the entire lot."

"That's odd," he said slowly. "Gone! Are you sure?"

In reply I pointed to the servants' wing. "Trunks packed," I said