st not leave this room yet," said Simms. "Pray quiet yourself."

"You mean to say you'll stop me?"

"Yes."

Then in a flash he knew. These men had not been sent for to attend the
Dowager Countess of Rochester, they were alienists, and they considered
him to be Rochester--Rochester gone mad.

Right from the first start of his confession he had been taken for a mad
man, that was why Venetia had said nothing, that was why the old lady
had fainted, that was why his wife--at least Rochester's wife, had run
from the room like a blind woman.

He stood appalled for a moment, before this self-evident fact. Then he
spoke:

"Open that door--get away from that door."

"Sit down and _quiet_ yourself," said Simms, staring him full in the
eye, "you--will--not--leave-this--house."

It was Simms who sat down, flung away by Jones.

Then Cavendish pinioned him from behind, the Duke of Melford shouted
directions, Simms scrambled to his feet, and Jones, having won free of
Cavendish, the rough and tumble began.

They fought all over the drawing-room, upsetting jardinieres, little
tables, costly china.

Jones' foot went into a china cabinet carrying destruction amongst a
concert party of little Dresden figures; Simms' portly behind bumped
against a pedestal, bearing a portrait bust of the nineteenth Countess
of Rochester, upsetting pedestal and smashing bust, and the Duke of
Melford, fine old sportsman that he was, assisting in the business with
the activity of a boy of eighteen, received a kick in the shin that
recalled Eton across a long vista of years.

Then at last they had him down on a sofa, his hands tied behind his back
with the Duke's bandanna handkerchief.

Jones had uttered no cry, the others no sound, but the bumping and
banging and smashing had been heard all over the house. A tap came to
the door and a voice. The Duke rushed to the door and opened it.

"Nothing," said he, "nothing wrong. Off with you."

He shut the door and turned to the couch.

Jones caught a glimpse of himself in a big mirror, happily un-smashed,
caught a glimpse of himself all tumbled and towsled with Simms beside
him and Cavendish standing by, re-fixing his glasses.

He recognised a terrible fact; though he had smashed hundreds of pounds'
worth of property, though he had fought these men like a mad bull, now
that the fight was over, they showed not the least sign of resentment.
Simms was patting his shoulder.

He had become possessed o