recognising the cold, drawn features by the light of the match he struck. “It’s Dudley! Run back to the house and get assistance quickly. I’ll remain here. Life may not be extinct after all, poor fellow!” At this suggestion I sprang up, and dashing away along the drive, burst into the drawing-room from the lawn.
“Geoffrey!” cried Mrs Laing, starting up quickly from a cosy-corner wherein she had settled to read. “What has happened? You look scared.”
“A very painful thing has occurred,” I gasped breathlessly, striving to preserve a calm demeanour. “We have found poor Dudley lying in the drive yonder. He’s dead!”
“Dead!” she screamed hysterically. “Dudley dead!”
“Yes, alas!” I replied. “Beck is with him, awaiting assistance.”
“I can’t believe it,” she cried, clutching at a chair for support. Her face was ashen pale, and her bejewelled hands trembled violently. “Poor Dudley! If he is dead, it is certain that he has been the victim of foul play,” she added mechanically, in a low tone. Then suddenly recovering herself, she inquired the circumstances in which we had found him.
“I will explain later,” I cried impatiently. “May I ring for the servants?”
“No,” she cried, starting forward with a strange, wild look. “Return to him, and leave all to me. For the present the truth must be kept from Ella. There are reasons why my daughter should not know of this tragic affair until to-morrow. As you are aware, she is weak and unstrung to-night, and has already gone to her room. I fear that any sudden shock may prove extremely detrimental to her, and I therefore trust you will respect my wishes.”
“Certainly,” I answered. “But we are not yet convinced that life is extinct, so while you arrange for his removal here, I’ll go at once for a doctor.”
“Yes, do. Dr Allenby is nearest. The first house over the bridge,” she replied hastily, and as she rang the bell I sprang out again upon the lawn and rushed away along the drive.
Beck was still kneeling beside the prostrate man, supporting his head upon his knee, and approaching, I asked whether he had detected any signs of respiration.
“None whatever,” he answered. “I’m afraid, poor fellow, he has gone.”
Briefly I explained my errand and rushed off for medical assistance, returning to “The Nook” with the grey-haired practitioner a quarter of an hour later. We found Dudley lying in the drawing-room on the large couch of yellow silk, with Beck and Mrs Laing standing calmly on either side. In Mrs Laing’s eyes were traces of tears. The doctor, after a brief examination, shook his head gravely, saying, —
“Life has, unfortunately, been extinct for fully an hour.”
“What is the cause of death?” inquired Mrs Laing, eagerly.
“I have not yet examined the body, but there are no marks of violence whatever, as far as I can observe. At the post-mortem we may be able to discover something.”
She drew a deep breath. I chanced at that moment to glance at her, and was surprised to observe an unmistakable look of terror flit for a brief instant across her haggard countenance. It seemed as though the doctor’s hope of determining the cause of death had aroused within her a sudden apprehension. Dr Allenby, however, suggested, in polite terms, that she should leave the room, as he desired to examine the body, and she reluctantly consented, exclaiming, as she moved slowly out, —
“I would have given worlds to have avoided all this. One’s name will be bruited about in the papers; and there will be an inquest, I suppose, and all that sort of thing. And dear Ella – what a terrible blow it will be to her!” Then, when the door had closed, while I stood gazing upon my intimate friend who, only an hour before, had been so full of life’s enjoyment, buoyant spirits and bonhomie, surprised at Mrs Laing’s extraordinary manner, and reflecting upon her sudden strange demeanour, the doctor, assisted by Beck, began a minute and careful examination. In a quarter of an hour, they satisfied themselves that no violence had been used, and just as they concluded, the police, who had been sent for, arrived. The local sub-divisional inspector, tall, red-faced, and inclined to obesity, a plain-clothes constable, and a sergeant in uniform, who entered the drawing-room, were at once informed of the mysterious circumstances in which the body had been discovered. The inspector scribbled some brief notes, took the names and addresses of all of us, remarking with politeness that we should be compelled to attend the inquest.
Afterwards, the body was removed to the billiard-room and the plain-clothes constable left in charge of it, while, with Beck and Dr Allenby, I entered the dining-room where Mrs Laing, pale, agitated and nervous, was eagerly awaiting us. The arrival of the police in her house had apparently filled her with dread, for almost the first question she asked me was, —
“Have they gone? Have they gone?”
“They have left one officer on duty to prevent the body being touched,” I answered.
“Then the police are absolutely in possession of my house! Will they search it?” she inquired hoarsely.
“Search it! Certainly not,” I answered. “Of course, if foul play were suspected, they might. Otherwise they have no power without a search-warrant properly signed by a magistrate.”
“But no violence is suspected,” she exclaimed in a half whisper, glancing over to where the doctor and Beck were standing in earnest conversation. “I shall therefore be spared the indignity of having my house searched, sha’n’t I?”
“I trust so, Mrs Laing,” I replied. “But it is not such a dreadful ordeal, after all, to have one’s place rummaged.”
“No, perhaps not,” she answered thoughtfully; then, smiling, she added, “Perhaps I am foolish to regret that this terrible affair has occurred at my very door. Poor Dudley has died suddenly, and it is only right that I, his intimate friend, should do what I can to ensure the last rite being carried out in decency. But the very thought of the police unnerves me! and I fear, too, on Ella’s account. Only yesterday Dr Allenby told her that she must carefully avoid any shock.”
“But she must know the truth to-morrow,” I observed.
“Will you break the dreadful news to her?” she urged. “As her betrothed, you, perhaps, can tell her better than anyone else.”
“Unfortunately I shall be unable,” I said. “This evening I received a very urgent telegram which recalls me to town, and having now lost my last train, I must go by the 6:30 in the morning. I cannot get back before late in the evening, or it may be next day. But as soon as possible I will return straight here, and render you whatever assistance is in my power.”
“Thanks. But is your business so very urgent?” she asked.
“Of greatest importance. Poor Dudley’s tragic end has delayed me, and even this brief delay may be of most serious consequence.”
“Ah! you men in the Foreign Office are always full of deep schemes and clever diplomacy,” she smiled, toying with her mass of rings.
I laughed, but did not reply.
“Is it on Foreign Office business that you are compelled to leave us?” she persisted, glancing at me keenly, I thought, as if intent upon ascertaining the purport of the telegram I had received.
“Yes,” I replied, in wonder that she should thus evince such a strong desire to glean the nature
