cried in a low-pitched, even voice. "Murdered!
And in the presence of you all! Then of course you know who his murderer
is."

"I don't, I don't! We none of us know! None of us!" she ejaculated,
shutting her hands together and lifting a tear-stained, haggard face to
his. "Oh, Mr. Deland, that is the terrible, the mysterious part of it
all. It happened in a flash. Suddenly the lights went out; we heard the
wheel humming, just as the Peasant Girl said it would hum, and then ...
then ... the lights came up again, and there he lay, shot through the
temple and stabbed to the heart, quite, quite dead!"

"Whew! Rather a marvellous happening, I must say," gave out Cleek,
laying a hand upon her shaking shoulder and edging her tenderly toward
the open door of that little ante-room into which he had been shown
only that morning, when the old laird himself had entered upon their
conversation, with his lady in attendance. And now he was dead!
murdered! It seemed indeed hardly credible. "Sit down awhile, and then
tell me at your leisure all the happenings which took place. Got any
brandy in the house? Or have you had some? No? Well, I've always a flask
handy. Now, take a pull at this, and then lean back in that chair and
close your eyes. You'll be a different person, I assure you. Here's my
flask. Make it a good peg, too."

Dumbly she did as she was bidden, acting as a sick child does, without
question, and thankful only for a directing hand. Meanwhile, Cleek stood
over her, watching how the colour ebbed slowly back into her pallid
cheeks and the red crept again into her blue lips, and congratulating
himself that he had been just in time, and no more, before she would
have fainted.

She shut her eyes as he had told her, and when a few minutes had
elapsed, Cleek leaned forward and touched her gently upon the wrist.

"Now let's hear all about it--if you're able. Where is your stepmother?"

"Upstairs in her room--prostrate." She spat the words out with positive
venom. "Ross is with his father, bowed down with grief, poor old boy;
while his fiancee, Cynthia Debenham, who came back with him, and her
cousin, Catherine Dowd, are in the house somewhere, seeing to the
necessary household arrangements."

"And you've telephoned the police?"

"Yes. And then signalled to you. They'll be along presently, I suppose?"

"Possibly--yes. I'd have brought my own man if I had only known. Mr.
Narkom will be here in the morning to take charge of a