There was a profound sensation as this witness took her departure, and Sir Impey scribbled a note and passed it down to Mr. Murbles. It contained the one word, "Magnificent!" Mr. Murbles scribbled back: "Never said a word to her. Can you beat it?" and leaned back in his seat smirking like a very neat little grotesque from a Gothic corbel.

The witness who followed was Professor Hebert, a distinguished exponent of international law, who described Cathcart's promising career as a rising young diplomat in Paris before the war. He was followed by a number of officers who testified to the excellent war record of the deceased. Then came a witness who gave the aristocratic name of du Bois-Gobey Houdin, who perfectly recollected a very uncomfortable dispute on a certain occasion when playing cards with Ie Capitaine Cathcart, and having subsequently mentioned the matter to Monsieur Thomas Freeborn, the distinguished English engineer. It was Parker's diligence that had unearthed this witness, and he looked across with an undisguised grin at the discomfited Sir Wigmore Wrinching. When Mr. Glibbery had dealt with all these the afternoon was well advanced, and the Lord High Steward accordingly asked the lords if it was their pleasure that the House be adjourned till the next day at 10.30 of the clock in the forenoon, and the lords replying "Aye" in a most exemplary chorus, the House was accordingly adjourned.

A scurry of swift black clouds with ragged edges was driving bleakly westward as they streamed out into Parliament Square, and the seagulls screeched and wheeled inwards from the river. Charles Parker wrapped his ancient Burberry closely about him as he scrambled on to a 'bus to get home to Great Ormond Street. It was only one more drop in his cup of discomfort that the conductor greeted him with "Outside only!" and rang the bell before he could get off again.

He climbed to the top and sat there holding his hat on.

Mr. Bunter returned sadly to 110a Piccadilly, and wandered restlessly about the flat till seven o'clock, when he came into the sitting-room and switched on the loud speaker.

"London calling," said the unseen voice impartially. "London calling. Here is the weather forecast. A deep depression is crossing the Atlantic, and a secondary is stationary over the British Isles. Storms, with heavy rain and sleet, will be prevalent, rising to a gale in the south and south-west…"

"You never know," said Bunter. "I suppose I'd better light a fire in his bedroom."

"Further outlook similar."

CHAPTER XVI

Lord Peter peered out through the cold scurry of cloud. The thin struts of steel, incredibly fragile, swung slowly across the gleam and glint far below, where the wide country dizzied out and spread like a revolving map. In front the sleek leather back of his companion humped stubbornly, sheeted with rain. He hoped that Grant was feeling confident. The roar of the engine drowned the occasional shout he threw to his passenger as they lurched from gust to gust.

He withdrew his mind from present discomforts and went over that last, strange, hurried scene. Fragments of conversation spun through his head.

"Mademoiselle, I have scoured two continents in search of you."

"Voyons, then, it is urgent. But be quick, for the big bear may come in and be grumpy, and I do not like des histoires."

There had been a lamp on a low table; he remembered the gleam through the haze of short gold hair. She was a tall girl, but slender, looking up at him from the huge black-and-gold cushions.

"Mademoiselle, it is incredible to me that you should ever-dine or dance-with a person called Van Humperdinck."

Now what had possessed him to say that-when there was so little time, and Jerry's affairs were of such importance?

"Monsieur van Humperdinck does not dance. Did you seek me through two continents to say that?"

"No, I am serious."

"Eh bien, sit down."

She had been quite frank about it.

"Yes, poor soul. But life was very expensive since the war. I refused several good things. But always des histoires. And so little money. You see, one must be sensible. There is one's old age. It is necessary to be provident, hein?"

"Assuredly." She had a little accent-very familiar. At first he could not place it. Then it came to him-Vienna before the war, that capital of incredible follies.

"Yes, yes, I wrote. I was very kind, very sensible, I said, 'Je ne suis pas femme à supporter de gros ennuis.' Cela se comprende, n'est-ce pas?"

That was readily understood. The 'plane dived sickly into a sudden pocket, the propeller whirring helplessly in the void, then steadied and began to nose up the opposite spiral.

"I saw it in the papers-yes. Poor boy! Why should anybody have shot him?"

"Mademoiselle, it is for that I have come to you. My brother, whom I dearly love, is accused of the murder. He may be hanged."

"But!"

"For a murder he did not commit."

"Mon pauvre enfant-"

"Mademoiselle, I implore you to be serious. My brother is accused, and will be standing his trial-"

Once her attention had been caught she had been all sympathy. Her blue eyes had a curious and attractive trick-a full lower lid that shut them into glimmering slits.

"Mademoiselle, I implore you, try to remember what was in his letter."

"But, mon pauvre ami, how can I? I did not read it. It was very long, very tedious, full of histoires. The thing was finished-I never bother about what cannot be helped, do you?"

But his real agony at this failure had touched her.

"Listen, then; all is perhaps not lost. It is possible the letter is still somewhere about. Or we will ask Adele. She is my maid. She collects letters to blackmail people-oh, yes, I know! But she is habile comme tout pour la toilette. Wait-we will look first."

Tossing out letters, trinkets, endless perfumed rubbish from the little gimcrack secretaire, from drawers full of lingerie ("I am so untidy-I am Adele's despair") from bags-hundreds of bags-and at last Adele, thin-lipped and wary-eyed, denying everything till her mistress suddenly slapped her face in a fury, and called her ugly little names in French and German.

"It is useless, then," said Lord Peter. "What a pity that Mademoiselle Adele cannot find a thing so valuable to me."

The word "valuable" suggested an idea to Adele.

There was Mademoiselle's jewel-case which had not been searched. She would fetch it.

"C'est cela que cherche monsieur?"

After that, the sudden arrival of Mr. Cornelius van Humperdinck, very rich and stout and suspicious, and the rewarding of Adele in a tactful, unobtrusive fashion by the elevator shaft.

Grant shouted, but the words flipped feebly away into the blackness and were lost. "What?" bawled Wimsey in his ear. He shouted again, and this time the word "juice" shot into sound and fluttered away.

But whether the news was good or bad Lord Peter could not tell.