"Probably. That brass plate on the Georgian house in the center of
the village positively glistened."

They were received by Hilton Fenley himself, all the available men
servants having been transferred to the cohort organized and directed
by Police Constable Farrow.

"Good morning, Mr. Furneaux," said Fenley. "I little thought, when
last we met, that I should be compelled to seek your help so soon
again, and under such dreadful circumstances."

Furneaux, whose face could display at will a Japanese liveliness of
expression or become a mask of Indian gravity, surveyed the speaker
with inscrutable eyes.

"This is Superintendent Winter, Chief of my Department," he said.

"The Assistant Commissioner told me to take charge of the inquiry
without delay, sir," explained Winter. He glanced at his watch. "We
have not been long on the road. It is only twenty minutes to eleven."

Fenley led them through a spacious hall into a dining-room on the
left. On an oak settee at the back of the hall the outline of a white
sheet was eloquent of the grim object beneath. In the dining-room were
an elderly man and a slim, white-faced girl. Had Trenholme been
present he would have noted with interest that her dress was of white
muslin dotted with tiny blue spots--not _fleurs de lys_, but rather
resembling them.

"Dr. Stern, and Miss Sylvia Manning," said Fenley to the newcomers.
Then he introduced the Scotland Yard men in turn. By this time the
young head of the family had schooled himself to a degree of
self-control. His sallow skin held a greenish pallor, and as if to
satisfy some instinct that demanded movement he took an occasional
slow stride across the parquet floor or brushed a hand wearily over
his eyes. Otherwise he had mastered his voice, and spoke without the
gasping pauses which had made distressful his words to Farrow.

"Ours is a sad errand, Mr. Fenley," began Winter, after a hasty glance
at the table, which still bore the disordered array of breakfast.
"But, if you feel equal to the task, you might tell us exactly what
happened."

Fenley nodded.

"Of course, of course," he said quietly. "That is essential. We
three, my father, Miss Manning and myself, breakfasted together. The
second gong goes every morning at eight forty-five, and we were
fairly punctual today. My father and Sylvia, Miss Manning, came in
together--they had been talking in the hall previously. I saw them
entering the room as I came downstairs. Duri