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Three large wooden packing-cases were now carried towards the studio.

“Be careful with the unpacking of those,” said the man who was evidently the chief in command. “Old blue Worcester dinner service, sir,” he explained in an aside to the two who were looking over the fence.

Dan groaned.

“Pure swank on her part,” said Barnabas sorrowfully. “What have the fleshpots of Egypt in common with the earthenware and bread and cheese of Bohemia. Why didn’t she take up her abode in the fashionable quarters of Kensington.”

“Turn a Park Lane house into a studio,” said Dan.

“Have you any idea,” asked Barnabas, addressing himself to the man in command, “when the fortunate possessor of these rare and valuable articles intends to take up her residence in this charming domicile?—in other words, when does the elderly lady come in?”

“To-night, sir, about seven o’clock, I think. Our orders are to have everything ready before six, even if we had to put on extra hands. But it will be ready easily, bless you, even to the making of the beds and final sweeping, which my wife’s seeing to. There’s not above four or five hours’ work here. There ain’t none of the little whatnots and ornaments to unpack what ladies usually carries about.”