“Better do as he says,” whispered Miss Fadden urgently, “else he’ll kill us.” For in truth, cold murder peeped out of the Groom of the Chamber’s deep-set eyes.

They walked slowly toward him and Alice let out a cry of fear as he was joined by Mr. Harry Russell and Lord Harold Webb.

The coach, which was pulled over to one side of the building, wobbled slightly as the escaping Mr. Funk heaved his large bulk into it.

“Come in, Alice,” sneered Webb, “and meet your trial, your judge, your jury and your conviction.”

As they entered the house they heard the coach rumbling off down the drive. “Mr. Funk,” said Alice, “he will tell everyone.”

“Oh, no he won’t,” said Harry Russell practicing a villainous sneer and feeling quite like Kean. “He doesn’t want the world and his wife to know that the great merchant, Mr. Funk, was thinking of tying himself up with a scullery maid.”

“Yes,” said Webb, more pompous than ever, “Not only a scullery maid but an imposter and a jewel thief.”

“I am no thief!” cried Alice.

“You stole the old Duchess’s jewels,” said Bessant.

“I did not steal them. You must believe me. They were given to me by someone who had a right to them.”

“Don’t try that ghost story on me again,” laughed Bessant. “That was no ghost. That was your lover pretending to be the Eighth Duke of Haversham.” Miss Fadden’s dazed mind seemed to grasp onto one thing. Ghost! Of course!

Alice looked about her wildly. The house was empty and deserted. No furniture. No servants. Miles from anywhere. But she had so much to live for. Her life, her love.

She made a wild dash for the door but found her way blocked by the grinning Bessant who had nipped quickly in her path. She threw herself upon him, raking his face with her nails while Miss Fadden lashed out wildly at the other two. Bessant swore and, raising the horse pistol, brought it crashing down on Alice’s head so that she fell like a stone.

“Pity,” he muttered, looking down at the unconscious girl. “Now I won’t be able to get the whereabouts of that so-called uncle out of her till she comes to.”

Webb and Harry Russell had succeeded in subduing the ranting, raving and cursing Miss Fadden, but not before she had kicked Harry Russell in both shins and blacked Lord Harold’s eyes.

“What language!” exclaimed Webb, quite shocked. “Sounds like a sailor, don’t she? Better gag her as well.”

“Now what do we do?” asked Harry Russell gloomily. “Can’t have any fun till she wakes up.”