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232 goggles. Then, walking carefully and making as little noise as possible, I stole through the underbrush toward the wall, where I fell on a path.

Nobody was in sight for the moment, but there were shouts and cries coming from all over the place. Then down the path in my direction came running a couple of chauffeurs, both of them with very flushed faces. At sight of me they paused for a second.

"Have you seen anybody?" asked one of them.

"Have I seen anybody?" I repeated. "I do not understand. What has happened?"

"There has been a thief in the house! Where do you come from, anyhow?"

"I am afraid you have had too much to drink," I answered. "Too much wine is a bad thing during this hot weather."

"Come on!" said the other impatiently. "Don't stop to argue!" And the two of them started to run down the path.

The whole park was swarming, and from all sides came the sound of crashing foliage and shouted questions and answers. The déjeuner had been abandoned, of course, and guests, waiters, cooks, chauffeurs, stablemen and field-workers were scouring the place—some beating out the bushes, others patrolling the road outside on the look-out for the criminal should he break for the wall. I came suddenly upon an exquisitely-dressed gentleman and lady adventuring through the woods hand in hand. He was pushing slightly in advance, armed with an enormous carving knife, and glaring ferociously into the shaded coverts. I recognised him at a glance as Martet, the actor; and the woman I had seen in the restaurants