"I will,--and--I don't care what happens!" Awful words! Awful in themselves, more awful from such lips, but surely most awful as making the second-step in the moral decadence of Troy! Yet I would not have my readers too excited.

They were words to shudder at, indeed; but the immediate consequences were not bloody-- they were only to a limited degree tragic.

It must be remembered that the magnificence of all actions is relative to the performer, nor would I seek to exalt Miss Limpenny to the level of a Semiramis or a Dido; only, when I say that she bore a great soul in a little body, I say no more than that she was a Trojan.
In short, Miss Limpenny did not, as the reader may have expected, take a boat and pursue after the strangers.

What she did was simply to descend swiftly to the front hall, take down from its stand an antique, brass-bound telescope of enormous proportions, and with it make her way swiftly to the back door.
The back gardens of Alma Villas ran parallel to each other, and were terminated by a high wall, with a quay-door apiece, a tall ladder leading from the door straight down to the water.

At the end of the garden, and built against this wall, in each case a stone terrace with a flight of steps allowed any one who chose to climb, and even perform a limited promenade while enjoying a full view of the harbour beyond.
It was to this flight of steps that Miss Limpenny, with a prayer on her lips and the telescope under her arm, made her way.
Both terrace and steps were rickety to a degree.