Mr. Bingle left a pleasant atmosphere of excitement behind him when he
disappeared between the portieres. At once the company broke into
eager, speculative whispers that soon grew to a perfect storm of
shrill inquiry. Every one was guessing, and every one was guessing as
loudly as possible in order to be heard above the clamour. It might
have been observed that at least three or four of the servants shot
furtive glances in the direction of the hall, and appeared to be
anxious and uncomfortable.

While the excitement was at its height, Flanders deliberately planted
himself at Miss Fairweather's elbow. She looked up into his face.
Every vestige of colour had left her own. Her eyes were wide with
alarm.

"Come with me, Amy," he said in a low tone. "I must have a word with
you. Make believe that you are showing me the--the pictures. We can
talk safely in that corner over there."

She arose without a word and followed him to a far corner of the room,
where they would be quite free from interruption.

"Oh, Dick!" she murmured, in great distress.

"Do you know anything? Who is this detective? Has he come to--"

"Sh! Why, you're actually shivering! Here, sit down in the window
seat--behind the curtain, dearest. What have you to be afraid of?
You've done no wrong."

She sank down on the window seat. The thick lace curtain shielded her