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"A murder?" The twinkle disappeared from Mrs. Maddison's eyes; her expression became one of some gravity.

"Yes. You see, in despair I went to my cousin's house."

"Lord Marcus Amberdale?"

"Yes, Marcus. It was pouring with rain, there wasn't a taxi in sight, and I hoped to be able to slip in and sleep on the couch, or anywhere."

"At what time was this, dear? And how did you propose to slip in?"

"Oh, the door is always practically open—at least, everybody knows where he keeps the key. But when I did get in, I found the place in the hands of the police. There was a murdered man lying in the lobby!"

"Fay! whatever do you mean? What had happened?"

"Nobody knows what had happened. At least, no one knew up to the time that I left this morning. Haven't you heard the news, matron?"

"No, I have not."

"It was Sir Giles Loeder."

"Dead?"

"Yes—murdered; at least they think so."

"Gracious heavens, child! Most charming man! Why, he was here only last month. You yourself showed him round."

"I know I did."