I had been long with the Princess Avalesco that day I'd
resolved to try its effect.

My hostess and her companion had arranged to motor to Dawlish directly
after tea. They invited me to go with them, or if I didn't care to do
that, they offered to put off the excursion, rather than my visit should
be cut short. I begged them to go, however, asking permission to remain
in their absence to chat with the housekeeper, and learn whether various
things ordered at Captain Burns' request had arrived.

With this excuse I got rid of the ladies, and as the new servants had
been engaged by me, I was _persona grata_ in the house. Five minutes
after the big car had spun away, I was hurrying through a long corridor
that led to the end wing. As it had been built for bachelors, there was
only one means of direct communication with the house. This was on the
ground floor, and all I knew of it by sight was a door covered with red
baize. I judged that this door would be locked, and that Kramm would
have a key. If I could make myself heard on the other side, I hoped that
the Scarletts would think Kramm had mislaid her key, and would come to
let her in.

I was right. The red door was provided with a modern Yale lock. This
looked so new that I fancied it had been lately supplied; and, if so,
the Scarletts--not Terry--had provided it! Now, a surface of baize is
difficult to pound upon with any hope of being heard at a distance. I
resorted to tapping the silver ball handle of my sunshade on the door
frame; and this I did again and again without producing the effect I
wanted.

The sole result was a horrid noise which I feared might attract the
attention of some servant. With each rap I threw a glance over my
shoulder. Luckily, however, the long passage with its stone floor, its
row of small, deep windows, and its dark figures in armour, was far from
any part of the house where servants came and went.

At last I heard a sound behind the baize. It was another door opening,
and a child's voice squeaked, "Who's there? Is that you, Krammie?"

For an instant I was taken aback--but only for an instant. "No," I
confessed in honeyed tones, "it isn't Krammie; but its someone with
something nice for you. Can't you open the door?"

A latch turned, and a cautious crack revealed one foxy eye and half a
freckled nose. "Oh, it's _you_, is it?" was the greeting. "I saw you in
the garden."

"And I saw you at the window," said I. "That's why I've brought