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“I see.” Brett leaned back in his chair and contemplated Winthrop thoughtfully.

“Mr. Winthrop,” asked Douglas, breaking the short silence, “were you and your uncle always on good terms?”

“Why, yes.” Winthrop’s twitching fingers closed unconsciously on the slender desk file, and as he spoke his shifting eyes dropped from Douglas’ clear gaze, and fell on the sharp steel desk ornament in his hand. With a convulsive shudder he dropped it and sprang to his feet. “What’s all this questioning about?” he demanded loudly. “I’ve had enough of this, you——” his hands clinched, and the blood flamed his pale face, a gurgle choked his utterance, and before Brett could reach him he fell prone across the desk.

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“I’M glad you could come back, Mr. Hunter,” said Brett, as Joshua opened the library door of the Carew residence and admitted Douglas. “Can you stay here all night?”

“If necessary,” replied Douglas, glancing at him in surprise.

“I think it would be best. Mrs. Winthrop is completely unstrung; her niece, Miss Carew, prostrated from shock, and Mr. Philip Winthrop in bed with a bad attack of delirium tremens. In such a household your presence to-night might be invaluable if anything else were to happen—not that I am anticipating any further trouble or tragedies.”