r, which was a good thing. My lord
the Count had been making a night of it last evening, and that always
made him the more peevish in the morning. Though he always woke at the
Angelus, he did not always wake up sober.

Sir Pierre stopped before a heavy, polished, carved oak door, selected
a key from one of the many at his belt, and turned it in the lock.
Then he went into the elevator and the door locked automatically
behind him. He pressed the switch and waited in patient silence as he
was lifted up four floors to the Count's personal suite.

By now, my lord the Count would have bathed, shaved, and dressed. He
would also have poured down an eye-opener consisting of half a water
glass of fine Champagne brandy. He would not eat breakfast until
eight. The Count had no valet in the strict sense of the term. Sir
Reginald Beauvay held that title, but he was never called upon to
exercise the more personal functions of his office. The Count did not
like to be seen until he was thoroughly presentable.

The elevator stopped. Sir Pierre stepped out into the corridor and
walked along it toward the door at the far end. At exactly seven
o'clock, he rapped briskly on the great door which bore the
gilt-and-polychrome arms of the House D'Evreux.

For the first time in seventeen years, there was no answer.

Sir Pierre waited for the growled command to enter for a full minute,
unable to believe his ears. Then, almost timidly, he rapped again.

There was still no answer.

Then, bracing himself for the verbal onslaught that would follow if he
had erred, Sir Pierre turned the handle and opened the door just as if
he had heard the Count's voice telling him to come in.

"Good morning, my lord," he said, as he always had for seventeen
years.

But the room was empty, and there was no answer.

He looked around the huge room. The morning sunlight streamed in
through the high mullioned windows and spread a diamond-checkered
pattern across the tapestry on the far wall, lighting up the brilliant
hunting scene in a blaze of color.

"My lord?"

Nothing. Not a sound.

The bedroom door was open. Sir Pierre walked across to it and looked
in.

He saw immediately why my lord the Count had not answered, and that,
indeed, he would never answer again.

My lord the Count lay flat on his back, his arms spread wide, his eyes
staring at the ceiling. He was still clad in his gold and scarlet
evening clothes. But the great stain on the front of