We crossed the landing to the hallway on the other side where the Simpsons and the Von Sauers were currently staying. That bathroom was occupied, but the annoyed voice coming from it was that of Mrs. Simpson, who told us in no uncertain terms to go away.

“Would she have gone downstairs and used one of our bathrooms?” I asked. There was one on my landing and another on Fig and Binky’s side.

“I don’t think Babe would want to be seen going down the staircase in her robe,” Earl said. “I didn’t think of checking another floor, but I’m willing to give anything a try right now.”

We went downstairs and examined my bathroom. Also empty. Lastly we went across to the grandest hallway, the one that contained the bedrooms of Fig and Binky, Prince Siegfried and also that of Prince George. The bathroom door was closed. We tapped on it. No answer. Earl rapped on it loudly. “Babe, are you in there?” Still no answer. “Oh, God,” he exclaimed. “What if she’s drowned in the bathtub? We must break down the door.”

“Nobody is breaking down a door,” Fig said. “We’ll get a key.”

I was dispatched to summon Hamilton, who arrived with the pass keys. We tried several and at last the bathroom door opened. The window faced the back of the castle and this part of the house had already descended into darkness. But we could make out a white shape lying on the floor.

“Oh, my God!” Earl sprang forward, while Fig turned on the light.

The harsh glare of the bulb revealed Babe, lying sprawled next to the lavatory in a pool of water and blood, while around her lay shattered pieces of what had been the lavatory tank. One could see where it had come away from the wall, high above the loo, revealing a brighter patch of tartan wallpaper. Most embarrassingly, she had obviously been sitting on the throne when she was struck. She was wearing nothing but a short kind of negligee and her little white bottom stuck up piteously.

Pandemonium ensued. Hamilton was sent to telephone for our doctor and an ambulance. Earl was on his knees pleading for Babe not to die, having first covered her posterior with his jacket to prevent further embarrassment. The countess appeared at that moment, started to have hysterics and had to be led away by her son, moaning, “A house of horrors, I knew it. What did I tell you? Somebody get me out of here before doom befalls us all.”