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"Yes." Her frank eyes were clouded, and one would have said that either the condition or the identity of the man who lay there had taxed endurance close to breaking point. "Sir Giles Loeder."

"H'm!" muttered Dr. Fawcett.

"Would ye be knowing Sir Giles well?" Firth asked.

"No; scarcely at all. He came down to Otterly a month or so ago to interview some of the patients. He had official permission to introduce their experiences into his broadcasts. You know he used to broadcast. That was where I met him. I was detailed to take him round. I never saw him again until ... to-night."

"I see," murmured Firth. "That doesn'a help us a great deal. He had the reputation of being a man o' great charm. Did ye find it so?"

"Frankly—" she forced a smile, but it was a wry and tremulous smile—"it sounds a dreadful thing to say, perhaps, in the circumstances, but I am afraid I didn't like him at all."

"Aye! is that so? And about Mrs. Vane, now? Ye'll be knowing her, I doubt not."

"Yes—I know her."

"Is she a friend of yours?"