The presence of Caroline Childers in the door brought the Duke of Dorset forward into the room. He alone had some understanding of the incident; but for the moment he said nothing. Cyrus Childers put his hand on a bell. "Nonsense, Caroline," he said.
But the bell brought no response. He tried another. Then he turned to the Duke.
"Pardon me a moment," he said, "these bells are evidently broken." He crossed to the door, spoke to Caroline, and went with her out into the corridor.
A moment later the Marchesa entered. The Duke had remained on his feet, where he had arisen, a thin wisp of smoke clinging to the end of his cigar, as it went slowly out.
The Marchesa Soderrelli crossed straight to him.
"There is something wrong here," she said; "the place is deserted."
The Duke of Dorset laid the cigar down gently on an ash tray, then he smiled.
"My dear Marchesa," he said, "something has gone wrong with the bells; that is all."
"That is not all," replied the woman; "I have been through the house to my room; there is no servant anywhere."
The Duke continued to smile. "I would wager a hunter," he said, "that every man and maid of them is at this moment in the servant's hall." He advanced a step. "Look again, my dear Marchesa," he said, "I think you will find the maids scurrying up at the end of the corridor." The Marchesa Soderrelli looked steadily at him for a moment.