All he said was: "I have a feeling that I ought to go down, at any rate." The words had hardly left his lips before the noises began again, and, of course, from where the two men were now, they sounded far louder than they had done from the doctor's bed-room.

Heavy furniture was undoubtedly being thrown about, and again there came those curious crashes, as if plates and dishes were being dashed against the wall and broken there in a thousand pieces.
"I say, this won't do!" Quickly he went towards the door, and as he reached the corridor he saw the swing door between the two parts of the house open, and Miss Farrow came through, looking her well-bred, composed self, and wearing, incidentally, a short, neat, becoming dressing-gown.
"I can't think what's happening!" she exclaimed.

She looked from the one man to the other.

"What _can_ be happening downstairs ?" As Panton made no answer, Mr.Tapster replied for them both: "The doctor thinks one of the servants got drunk last night." "Yes, that must be it, of course.

I'll go down and see who it is," she said composedly.
But Dr.Panton broke in authoritatively: "No, indeed, Miss Farrow! If it's what I think it is, the fellow will probably be violent.