he bridge of the millionaire's nose turned
suddenly white.

'With your permission,' he said in a low calm voice, 'I will examine the
dressing-room and the bath-room.'

'Just listen to me a moment,' Dimmock urged, in a milder tone.

'I'll listen to you afterwards, my young friend,' said Racksole, and he
proceeded to search the bath-room, and the dressing-room, without any
result whatever. 'Lest my attitude might be open to misconstruction, Mr
Dimmock, I may as well tell you that I have the most perfect confidence
in my daughter, who is as well able to take care of herself as any woman
I ever met, but since you entered it there have been one or two rather
mysterious occurrences in this hotel. That is all.' Feeling a draught of
air on his shoulder, Racksole turned to the window. 'For instance,' he
added, 'I perceive that this window is broken, badly broken, and from
the outside.

Now, how could that have occurred?'

'If you will kindly hear reason, Mr Racksole,' said Dimmock in his
best diplomatic manner, 'I will endeavour to explain things to you. I
regarded your first question to me when you entered my room as being
offensively put, but I now see that you had some justification.'
He smiled politely. 'I was passing along this corridor about eleven
o'clock, when I found Miss Racksole in a difficulty with the hotel
servants. Miss Racksole was retiring to rest in this room when a large
stone, which must have been thrown from the Embankment, broke the
window, as you see. Apart from the discomfort of the broken window, she
did not care to remain in the room. She argued that where one stone
had come another might follow. She therefore insisted on her room being
changed. The servants said that there was no other room available with a
dressing-room and bath-room attached, and your daughter made a point of
these matters. I at once offered to exchange apartments with her. She
did me the honour to accept my offer. Our respective belongings were
moved--and that is all. Miss Racksole is at this moment, I trust, asleep
in No. 124.'

Theodore Racksole looked at the young man for a few seconds in silence.

There was a faint knock at the door.

'Come in,' said Racksole loudly.

Someone pushed open the door, but remained standing on the mat. It was
Nella's maid, in a dressing-gown.

'Miss Racksole's compliments, and a thousand excuses, but a book of hers
was left on the mantelshelf in this room. She cannot sleep, and wishes
to