“Of course,” replied Fairlie with dignity. “I saw her ladyship look over the stairs, wondering, I suppose, what was happening: the cigarette box made a bit of noise hitting the wall and falling, naturally, and I suppose her ladyship heard it.” He glanced in a respectful way at Lady Penterton, but she was lying back as if exhausted and made no sign. “Sir Roger stood there, muttering curses under his breath and waving his stick, and I saw her ladyship lean forward; the banisters creaked and Sir Roger looked up and then something fell down and hit him on the forehead. Her ladyship gave a little cry and stood there wringing her hands, and then after a minute she came downstairs. She stood as if she didn’t dare go actually to him; I think even then she was afraid of him and presently she made a shuddering sound—I can’t describe it any differently—I saw her pick up the statuette in a kind of wondering way and then she went upstairs as if she was terrified. When she was at the top I saw her stop suddenly. She was looking at what she had caught hold of in her hands; I could see she didn’t know how it got there. She put it down and stood, holding her elbow as if it hurt her and shaking in a kind of way as if she didn’t know what she was doing, and then she gave a dreadful gasp and I could hear her sobbing as she went along to her room. It was terrible for me to hear her ladyship like that. Then I acted just as I told you: I was afraid there would be stains on the statuette and that it wasn’t put back proper.” He stopped and looked at Lady Penterton, who raised herself up on one elbow and gazed at him. “If you had only told me you were there,” she said, “how much better it would have been! Oh, the awfulness of that silent hall!” She shuddered convulsively. “Tell us everything, my lady,” said Humblethorne. She did not seem at first to hear; it was some minutes before she could gain control of herself and summon up the resolution to speak. “It is very simple,” she said at last, tremblingly. “I was reading in my boudoir later than usual—the book was interesting—and I was just thinking of going to bed when I heard my husband’s voice raised in anger in the hall. At first I tried to take no notice: it was,” she paused and looked piteously at Fairlie before continuing, “it was not uncommon. But it went on and at last I came out to listen. He was standing at the foot of the stairs calling some one names—I could not see whom and no one answered.” Humblethorne shot a searching glance at Evelyn, who said in a whisper, “She does not know. She has not been told.”