Winsor.  Did you hear anything?

Margaret.  Only little Ferdy splashing.

Winsor.  And saw nothing?

Margaret.  Not even that, alas!

Lady A. [With a finger held up] Leste!  Un peu leste!  Oh!  Here are the
Dancys.  Come in, you two!

Mabel and Ronald Dancy enter.  She is a pretty young woman with bobbed hair, fortunately, for she has just got out of bed, and is in her nightgown and a wrapper.  Dancy is in his smoking jacket.  He has a pale, determined face with high cheekbones, small, deep-set dark eyes, reddish crisp hair, and looks like a horseman.

Winsor.  Awfully sorry to disturb you, Mrs Dancy; but I suppose you and Ronny haven’t heard anything.  De Levis’s room is just beyond Ronny’s dressing-room, you know.

Mabel.  I’ve been asleep nearly half an hour, and Ronny’s only just come up.

Canynge.  Did you happen to look out of your window, Mrs Dancy?

Mabel.  Yes.  I stood there quite five minutes.

Canynge.  When?

Mabel.  Just about eleven, I should think.  It was raining hard then.

Canynge.  Yes, it’s just stopped.  You saw nothing?

Mabel.  No.

Dancy.  What time does he say the money was taken?

Winsor.  Between the quarter and half past.  He’d locked his door and had the key with him.

Margaret.  How quaint!  Just like an hotel.  Does he put his boots out?

Lady A. Don’t be so naughty, Meg.

Canynge.  When exactly did you come up, Dance?

Dancy.  About ten minutes ago.  I’d only just got into my dressing-room before Lady Adela came.  I’ve been writing letters in the hall since Colford and I finished billiards.

Canynge.  You weren’t up for anything in between?

Dancy.  No.

Margaret.  The mystery of the grey room.

Dancy.  Oughtn’t the grounds to be searched for footmarks?

Canynge.  That’s for the police.

Dancy.  The deuce!  Are they coming?

Canynge.  Directly. [A knock] Yes?

     Treisure enters.

Well?

Treisure.  The ladder has not been moved, General.  There isn’t a sign.

Winsor.  All right.  Get Robert up, but don’t say anything to him.  By the way, we’re expecting the police.

Treisure.  I trust they will not find a mare’s nest, sir, if I may say so.

     He goes.

Winsor.  De Levis has got wrong with Treisure. [Suddenly] But, I say, what would any of us have done if we’d been in his shoes?

Margaret.  A thousand pounds?  I can’t even conceive having it.