of an electric lamp.

Instantly it had filled the Home Secretary's office with a pungent
and most disagreeable smoke, for which he was heartily cursed by
his superiors. But it had rounded off the argument.

He looked at his watch.

"I wonder if it is too late to see Mrs. Lexman," he said.

"I don't think any hour would be too late," suggested Mansus.

"You shall come and chaperon me," said his superior.

But a disappointment awaited. Mrs. Lexman was not in and neither
the ringing at her electric bell nor vigorous applications to the
knocker brought any response. The hall porter of the flats where
she lived was under the impression that Mrs. Lexman had gone out
of town. She frequently went out on Saturdays and returned on the
Monday and, he thought, occasionally on Tuesdays.

It happened that this particular night was a Monday night and T.
X. was faced with a dilemma. The night porter, who had only the
vaguest information on the subject, thought that the day porter
might know more, and aroused him from his sleep.

Yes, Mrs. Lexman had gone. She went on the Sunday, an unusual day
to pay a week-end visit, and she had taken with her two bags. The
porter ventured the opinion that she was rather excited, but when
asked to define the symptoms relapsed into a chaos of incoherent