Lady Cynthia was suddenly eager. Margaret glanced across at her father.
Sir Timothy seemed almost imperceptibly to stiffen a little.

"Margaret has carte blanche at The Sanctuary as regards her visitors,"
he said. "I am afraid that I shall be busy over at The Walled House."

"But you'd come and dine with us?"

Sir Timothy hesitated. An issue which had been looming in his mind for
many hours seemed to be suddenly joined.

"Please!" Lady Cynthia begged.

Sir Timothy followed the example of the others and rose to his feet. He
avoided Lady Cynthia's eyes. He seemed suddenly a little tired.

"I will come and dine," he assented quietly. "I am afraid that I cannot
promise more than that. Lady Cynthia, as she knows, is always welcome at
The Sanctuary."

CHAPTER XXX

Punctual to his appointment that afternoon, the man who had sought an
interview with Francis was shown into the latter's study in Clarges
Street.

He wore an overcoat over his livery, and directly he entered the room
Francis was struck by his intense pallor. He had been trying feverishly
to assure himself that all that the man required was the usual sort of
help, or assistance into a hospital. Yet there was something furtive in
his visitor's manner, something which suggested the bearer of a guilty
secret.

"Please tell me what you want as quickly as you can," Francis begged. "I
am due to start down into the country in a few minutes."

"I won't keep you long, sir," the man replied. "The matter is rather a
serious one."

"Are you ill?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You had better sit down."

The man relapsed gratefully into a chair.

"I'll leave out everything that doesn't count, sir," he said. "I'll be
as brief as I can. I want you to go back to the night I waited upon
you at dinner the night Mr. Oliver Hilditch was found dead. You gave
evidence. The jury brought it in 'suicide.' It wasn't suicide at all,
sir. Mr. Hilditch was murdered."

The sense of horror against which he had been struggling during the
last few hours, crept once more through the whole being of the man who
listened. He was face to face once more with that terrible issue. Had he
perjured himself in vain? Was the whole structure of his dreams about to
collapse, to fall about his ears?

"By whom?" he faltered.

"By Sir Timothy Brast, sir."

Francis, who had been standing with his hand upon the table, felt
suddenly inclined to laugh. Facile though his brain was, the change of
issu