“Is Miss Warburton up yet?”

“No, sir.  One of the servants knocked at her door some little time ago, but received no answer.”

“She must be wakened, and I’ll write a note that must be given to her immediately.”

Mr. Prohack wrote:  “Please dress at once and come to my study.  I want to see you about the church-clock.  A.P.”  Then he waited, alternately feeling the radiator and warming his legs at the newly-lit wood fire.  He was staggered by the incredible turn of events, and he had a sensation that nothing was or ever would be secure in the structure of his environment.

“Well, I’m hanged!  Well, I’m hanged!” he kept saying to himself, and indeed several times asserted that an even more serious fate had befallen him.

“Here I am!” Mimi exclaimed brazenly, entering the room.

The statement was not exaggerated.  She emphatically was there, aspiring nose and all—­in full evening dress, the costume of the night before.

“Have you slept in your clothes?” Mr. Prohack demanded.

Her manner altered at his formidable tone.

“No, sir,” she replied meekly.  “But I’ve nothing else here.  I shall put a cloak on and drive off in a taxi to change for the day.  May I sit down?”

Mr. Prohack nodded.  Indubitably she made a wonderful sight in her daring splendour.

“So you’ve found out all about it already!” said she, still meekly, while Mr. Prohack was seeking the right gambit.  “Please do tell me how,” she added, disposing the folds of her short skirt about the chair.

“I’m not here to answer questions,” said Mr. Prohack.  “I’m here to ask them.  How did you do it?  And was it you or Charlie or both of you?  Whose idea was it?”

“It was my idea,” Mimi purred.  “But Mr. Charles seemed to like it.  It was really very simple.  We first of all found out about the sexton.”

“And how did you do that?”

“Private enquiry agents, of course.  Same people who were in charge here last night.  I knew of them when I was with Mr. Carrel Quire, and it was I who introduced them to Mrs. Prohack.”

“It would be!” Mr. Prohack commented.  “And then?”

“And then when we’d discovered Mrs. Slipstone—­or Miss Slipstone—­”

“Who’s she?”

“She’s a rather stout charwoman who has a fascination for the sexton of St. Nicodemus.  When I’d got her it was all plain sailing.  She lent me the church keys and Mr. Charles and I went up the tower to reconnoitre.”

“But that was more than twenty-four hours before the clock ceased to strike, and you returned the keys to her.”