Telegram? It seemed to be a day of telegrams.

"Come here at once. Urgent. James Huddle," was the purport of
the message displayed before Huddle's bewildered eyes.

"I see it all!" he exclaimed suddenly in a voice shaken with
agitation, and with a look of agony in the direction of the
shrubbery he hauled the astonished Birberry into the house. Tea
had just been laid in the hall, but the now thoroughly panic-
stricken Huddle dragged his protesting guest upstairs, and in a
few minutes' time the entire household had been summoned to that
region of momentary safety. Clovis alone graced the tea-table
with his presence; the fanatics in the library were evidently too
immersed in their monstrous machinations to dally with the solace
of teacup and hot toast. Once the youth rose, in answer to the
summons of the front-door bell, and admitted Mr. Paul Isaacs,
shoemaker and parish councillor, who had also received a pressing
invitation to The Warren. With an atrocious assumption of
courtesy, which a Borgia could hardly have outdone, the secretary
escorted this new captive of his net to the head of the stairway,
where his involuntary host awaited him.

And then ensued a long ghastly vigil of watching and waiting.
Once or twice Clovis left the house to stroll across to the
shrubbery, returning always to the library, for the purpose
evidently of making a brief report. Once he took in the letters
from the evening postman, and brought them to the top of the
stairs with punctilious politeness. After his next absence he
came half-way up the stairs to make an announcement.