Bella had followed me and was peering over my shoulder curiously.

“There isn’t a servant in the house,” she said triumphantly.  And when we went down to the kitchen, she seemed to be right.  It was in disgraceful order, and one of the bottles of wine that had ben banished from the dining room sat half empty on the floor.

“Drunk!” Bella said with conviction.  But I didn’t think so.  There had not been time enough, for one thing.  Suddenly I remembered the ambulance that had been the cause of Bella’s appearance—­for no one could believe her silly story about Takahiro.  I didn’t wait to voice my suspicion to her; I simply left her there, staring helplessly at the confusion, and ran upstairs again:  through the dining room, past Jimmy and Aunt Selina, past Leila Mercer and Max, who were flirting on the stairs, up, up to the servants’ bedrooms, and there my suspicions were verified.  There was every evidence of a hasty flight; in three bedrooms five trunks stood locked and ominous, and the closets yawned with open doors, empty.  Bella had been right; there was not a servant in the house.

As I emerged from the untidy emptiness of the servants’ wing, I met Mr. Harbison coming out of the studio.

“I wish you would let me do some of this running about for you, Mrs. Wilson,” he said gravely.  “You are not well, and I can’t think of anything worse for a headache.  Has the butler’s illness clogged the household machinery?”

“Worse,” I replied, trying not to breathe in gasps.  “I wouldn’t be running around—­like this—­but there is not a servant in the house!  They have gone, the entire lot.”

“That’s odd,” he said slowly.  “Gone!  Are you sure?”

In reply I pointed to the servants’ wing.  “Trunks packed,” I said tragically, “rooms empty, kitchen and pantries, full of dishes.  Did you ever hear of anything like it?”

“Never,” he asserted.  “It makes me suspect—­” What he suspected he did not say; instead he turned on his heel, without a word of explanation, and ran down the stairs.  I stood staring after him, wondering if every one in the place had gone crazy.  Then I heard Betty Mercer scream and the rest talking loud and laughing, and Mr. Harbison came up the stairs again two at a time.

“How long has that Jap been ailing, Mrs. Wilson?” he asked.

“I—­I don’t know,” I replied helplessly.  “What is the trouble, anyhow?”

“I think he probably has something contagious,” he said, “and it has scared the servants away.  As Mr. Brown said, he looked spotty.  I suggested to your husband that it might be as well to get the house emptied—­in case we are correct.”

“Oh, yes, by all means,” I said eagerly.  I couldn’t get away too soon.  “I’ll go and get my—­” Then I stopped.  Why, the man wouldn’t expect me to leave; I would have to play out the wretched farce to the end!

“I’ll go down and see them off,” I finished lamely, and we went together down the stairs.