Inspector (coolly):  “Not at all, madam, but it is only right to tell you a hansom cabman informed us that, as he was passing this house a few minutes ago, he saw a man jump into that window.”

He walked away from me and, holding his lantern over the area, peered down and saw the broken flower-pot.  I knew lying was more than useless and, as the truth had always served me well, I said, giving my father’s servant, who looked sleepy, a heavy kick on the instep: 

“That is quite true; a friend of mine did jump in at that window, about a quarter of an hour ago; but (looking down with a sweet an modest smile) he was not a burglar ...”

Henry hill (my father’s servant):  “How often I’ve told you, miss, that, as long as Master Edward loses his latch-keys, there is nothing to be done and something is bound to happen!  One day he will not only lose the latch-key, but his life.”

Inspector:  “I’m sorry to have frightened you, madam, I will now take down your names ...”

Margot (anxiously):  “Oh, I see, you have to report it in the police news, have you?  Has the cabman given you his name?  He ought to be rewarded, he might have saved us all!”

I felt that I could have strangled the cabman, but, collecting myself, took one candle off the writing-table and, blowing the other out, led the way to the library-door, saying slowly: 

“Margaret...  Emma...  Alice Tennant.  Do I have to add my occupation?”

Inspector (busily writing in a small note-book):  “No, thank you.”  (Turning to Hill) “Your name, please.”

My father’s servant was thoroughly roused and I regretted my kick when in a voice of thunder he said: 

“Henry Hastings Appleby Hill.”

I felt quite sure that my father would appear over the top of the stair and then all would be over; but, by the fortune that follows the brave, perfect silence reigned throughout the house.  I walked slowly away, while Hill led the three policemen into the hall.  When the front door had been barred and bolted, I ran down the back stairs and said, smiling brightly: 

“I shall tell my father all about this!  You did very well; good night, Hill.”

When the coast was clear, I returned to the library with my heart beating and shut the door.  Peter had disentangled himself from the sofa and was taking fluff off his coat with an air of happy disengagement; I told him with emphasis that I was done for, that my name would be ringing in the police news next day and that I was quite sure by the inspector’s face that he knew exactly what had happened; that all this came from Peter’s infernal temper, idiotic jealousy and complete want of self-control.  Agitated and eloquent, I was good for another ten minutes’ abuse; but he interrupted me by saying, in his most caressing manner: 

“The inspector is all right, my dear!  He is a friend of mine!  I wouldn’t have missed this for the whole world:  you were magnificent!  Which shall we reward, the policeman, the cabman or Hill?”