"Louise," he cried softly, "let me in. It is I - David."

Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed
as though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth.
Then Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were
voices in the small reception room, - the voice of Henri, the butler,
and another. Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and
walked swiftly down the passage. He entered the reception room and
looked around him in amazement. It was still in disorder. Lassen
sat in an easy-chair with a tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri
was tying a bandage around his head, his collar was torn, there
were marks of blood about his shirt. Bellamy's eyes sparkled. He
closed the door behind him.

"Come," he exclaimed, "after all, I fancy that my arrival is
somewhat opportune!"

Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.

"Monsieur Lassen has been unwell, Monsieur," he said. "He has had
a fit and fallen down."

Bellamy laughed contemptuously.

"I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that," he
declared. "What do you say, Mr. Lassen?"

The man glared at him viciously.

"I do not know what you are talking about," he said. "I do not