oices, Margaret's amongst them.
His own name was called aloud, and a man whom he had never seen said,
"Oh, is he there? I am not surprised. I now thrash him within an inch of
his life."

"Mrs. Wilcox," said Leonard, "I have done wrong."

The man took him by the collar and cried, "Bring me a stick." Women were
screaming. A stick, very bright, descended. It hurt him, not where it
descended, but in the heart. Books fell over him in a shower. Nothing
had sense.

"Get some water," commanded Charles, who had all through kept very calm.
"He's shamming. Of course I only used the blade. Here, carry him out
into the air."

Thinking that he understood these things, Margaret obeyed him. They laid
Leonard, who was dead, on the gravel; Helen poured water over him.

"That's enough," said Charles.

"Yes, murder's enough," said Miss Avery, coming out of the house with
the sword.

CHAPTER XLII

When Charles left Ducie Street he had caught the first train home, but
had no inkling of the newest development until late at night. Then
his father, who had dined alone, sent for him, and in very grave tones
inquired for Margaret.

"I don't know where she is, pater" said Charles. "Dolly kept back dinner
nearly an hour for her."

"Tell me when she comes in."

Another hour passed. The servants went to bed, and Charles visited his
father again, to receive further instructions. Mrs. Wilcox had still not
returned.

"I'll sit up for her as late as you like, but she can hardly be coming.
Isn't she stopping with her sister at the hotel?"

"Perhaps," said Mr. Wilcox thoughtfully--"perhaps."

"Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"Not to-night, my boy."

Mr. Wilcox liked being called sir. He raised his eyes, and gave his son
more open a look of tenderness than he usually ventured. He saw Charles
as little boy and strong man in one. Though his wife had proved unstable
his children were left to him.

After midnight he tapped on Charles's door. "I can't sleep," he said. "I
had better have a talk with you and get it over."

He complained of the heat. Charles took him out into the garden, and
they paced up and down in their dressing-gowns. Charles became very
quiet as the story unrolled; he had known all along that Margaret was as
bad as her sister.

"She will feel differently in the morning," said Mr. Wilcox, who had
of course said nothing about Mrs. Bast. "But I cannot let this kind of
thing continue without comment. I am morally c