“I saw Miss Celia standing there in front of the drawing-room door, and he was going on at her, insisting that she was up to some mischief. And then she tried to pass him and go upstairs and he caught hold of her arm. She gave a little cry—he was always rough, was Sir Roger—and then out of the drawing-room came Mr. John. I hadn’t seen him for ten years or more and nor had Sir Roger, but we both recognized him at once. Sir Roger used dreadful language at him—you know, of course, the way he drove him from home—and then ordered Miss Celia to her room, saying he’d deal with her later. She was for staying, but Mr. John saw she couldn’t do any good and he told her to go too. Then Sir Roger began on Mr. John and called him all the things he could think of, dreadful the way he went on, it was: and at last he raised his stick and made as if to strike at him. Mr. John had stood there very quietly, not saying a word—he knew it wasn’t no use—but when he saw Sir Roger lift his stick at him he picked up that cigarette box which was just by his hand and threw it at him, not fierce-like but just to keep him off. It hit the wall and the cigarettes fell all over the stairs—and Mr. John gave a short laugh and ran back into the drawing-room: and I didn’t see him again.” “What time was this?” interposed Humblethorne as Fairlie paused. “Twelve o’clock struck just afterwards,” replied Fairlie. “Well, what then?” interjected Birts after a moment’s silence. “Then,” resumed Fairlie slowly, “I slipped away and turned up the back stairs and round to the top there where I could see down into the hall. I thought it was my duty to remonstrate with Sir Roger if he intended to go to Miss Celia: in the state he was in he would have thrashed her, as likely as not. I couldn’t stand by and see that. He was still in the hall, muttering to himself. He was just below me and it came over me all of a sudden. What with the fear of him giving me notice and the fear of him lifting his hand to Miss Celia—but, there, I can’t explain it. He heard me up there, looked up and somehow, when I see his face like that, I felt that he wasn’t fit to live and I tipped the statuette down on him. He just fell and never moved again.” Fairlie paused, took out his handkerchief, blew his nose solemnly and then replaced his handkerchief carefully.