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“Can’t say that I have,” answered Rowton.

“Well, well,” said Dr. Read testily, “I thought all the world knew of him. I never for an instant suspected that this cross-grained old fellow could be he, but I believe it is a fact. It seems that the man had an awful shock: his only son was mysteriously murdered. Of course there may not be a word of truth in it, but something must have happened—did you speak, sir?”

Rowton had said “Good God” under his breath. He was quite quiet now.

“I think your informant must be mistaken,” he said after a pause. “I know the Folletts very well, and neither father nor daughter have ever alluded to a murdered son or brother—murdered! Good Heavens! Nancy Follett would surely have told me of a tragedy of that sort.”

“Well,” said Dr. Read, “there is some shadow over those two lives, and the shadow is killing the old man. Poor fellow, his days are numbered; it is only a question of hours.”

“I am surprised, shocked, and sorry,” said Rowton. “I was at the Grange only a week back and then Dr. Follett looked as well as ever.”