“Quite possibly she may be mixed up in the necklace business,” Mr. Prohack admitted.  “She may be a clue.  Look here, don’t let’s tell anybody outside—­not even Mr. Crewd.  Let’s detect for ourselves.  It will be the greatest fun.  What does she say for herself?”

“She said she was waiting outside the house to catch a young lady with a snub-nose going away from my reception—­Mimi Winstock, of course.”

“Why Mimi Winstock?”

“Well, hasn’t she got a turned-up nose?  And she didn’t go away from my reception.  She’s sleeping here,” Eve rejoined triumphantly.

“And what else does the fat woman say?”

“She says she won’t say anything else—­except to Mimi Winstock.”

“Well, then, wake up Mimi as you wakened me, and send her to the servants’ hall—­wherever that is—­I’ve never seen it myself!”

Eve shook her somewhat tousled head vigorously.

“Certainly not.  I don’t trust Miss Mimi Winstock—­not one bit—­and I’m not going to let those two meet until you’ve had a talk with the burglar.”

“Me!” Mr. Prohack protested.

“Yes, you.  Seeing that you don’t want me to send for the police.  Something has to be done, and somebody has to do it.  And I never did trust that Mimi Winstock, and I’m very sorry she’s gone to Charlie.  That was a great mistake.  However, it’s got nothing to do with me.”  She shrugged her agreeable shoulders.  “But my necklace has got something to do with me.”

Mr. Prohack thought “What would Lady Massulam do in such a crisis?  And how would Lady Massulam look in a dressing-gown and her hair down?  I shall never know.”  Meanwhile he liked Eve’s demeanour—­its vivacity and simplicity.  “I’m afraid I’m still in love with her,” the strange fellow reflected, and said aloud:  “You’d better kiss me.  I shall have an awful headache if you don’t.”  And Eve reluctantly kissed him, with the look of a martyr on her face.

Within a few minutes Mr. Prohack had dismissed his wife, and was descending the stairs in a dressing-gown which rivalled hers.  The sight of him in the unknown world of the basement floor, as he searched unaided for the servants’ hall, created an immense sensation,—­far greater than he had anticipated.  A nice young girl, whom he had never seen before and as to whom he knew nothing except that she was probably one of his menials, was so moved that she nearly had an accident with a tea-tray which she was carrying.

“What is your name?” Mr. Prohack benignly asked.

“Selina, sir.”

“Where are you going with that tea-tray and newspaper?”

“I was just taking it upstairs to Machin, sir.  She’s not feeling well enough to get up yet, sir.”

Mr. Prohack comprehended the greatness of the height to which Machin had ascended.  Machin, a parlourmaid, drinking tea in bed, and being served by a lesser creature, who evidently regarded Machin as a person of high power and importance on earth!  Mr. Prohack saw that he was unacquainted with the fundamental realities of life in Manchester Square.