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"I believe you spoke, sir."

Startled by the voice which came from behind her shoulder, the girl looked quickly back, and then ran to Lord Marcus, hands outstretched.

"Marcus, my dear—Marcus! whatever has happened!"

He rested his long hands upon her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and his smile was infinitely kindly. "You may well ask, Fay, but I fear I cannot tell you. This unhappy affair is as much a mystery to me as to anyone. Let me ask in return whatever has brought you here at this hour of the night."

Sergeant Bluett glanced suspiciously at Dr. Fawcett. Firth stood quite still, watching Lord Marcus: the girl, clutching one sleeve of his robe, was staring aside towards the Roman couch. Perceptibly, she grew still more pale. She was so delicately pretty that the average observer might have overlooked her; a beauty for a connoisseur. Almost boyishly slim, her limbs were alluringly rounded, and her frank gray eyes expressed a sort of primaeval innocence. She had hazelnut hair, wind-blown, and at the moment, wet; and her fresh skin might have belonged to a dryad, to a creature of the greenwood. A light blue cape, which may have formed part of a uniform, was worn over an evening frock, and her dance shoes were spattered with mud. She turned from Lord Marcus, still holding his sleeve, and faced the Chief Inspector.