Stenness nodded dully and moved towards the door. Now that he had made a clean breast of things, his mind seemed to have gone back to his loss; and his whole bearing was eloquent of his utter despair. Sir Clinton watched him leave the room. “A tough bullet for the poor devil to bite on,” he thought to himself. “Well, ‘joy cometh in the morning,’ it says somewhere or other. Perhaps he’ll find it so.” He lit a fresh cigarette and seemed to dismiss Stenness from his mind. “I wonder if that devil is wound up far enough to make a final effort?” he reflected in some perplexity. “I believe he is. At any rate, I’ll take the chance of it. He’s had it all his own way so far, and this ought to encourage him.” Ardsley came into the room and smiled on seeing that Sir Clinton was alone. “I’m in a hurry, Ardsley. Stenness has taken up a lot of valuable time with his woes. What I wanted is this. Will you be at the house-door here at half-past six o’clock to-morrow morning without fail? I’ll need you, perhaps.” He paused, then as an after-thought apparently, he added: “I don’t suppose you could give a death certificate in the case of a death by misadventure, could you?” Ardsley shook his head. “I’d need to know something about the case before I could venture on that sort of thing. The Coroner would want to have a say in business of that kind.” Sir Clinton reluctantly agreed. “Now suppose we pick up Wendover in the other room. No one will want to see Miss Hawkhurst to-night?” “I’ll see to that,” Ardsley assured him. “Another doctor will need to be called in, and so forth. Until he turns up, I think no one need go into that room.” CHAPTER XVI. The Last Attack in the Maze When Ardsley and the Chief Constable entered the other room they found Wendover with Ernest Shandon and Arthur. In the stress of his emotion, Ernest seemed to have flown to his usual comforter, for he had a decanter and a syphon at his elbow. Arthur Hawkhurst seemed to be endeavouring to restrain his feelings to the best of his ability; but it was obvious at a glance that his nerves were all on edge. “Miss Forrest isn’t here?” Sir Clinton inquired, though the question was needless. “No,” Ernest hastened to explain. “She’s not here. I think she must be somewhere else—upstairs in her own room, perhaps, or else somewhere about the house. Or she may have gone out with Torrance. He’s gone for a walk. Quite possibly she went out with him. Very thoughtful of them to leave us to our grief, very thoughtful. I don’t know how we’ll get over this; I really don’t know. Sylvia was so useful about the place—made things run so smoothly, you know. We’ll miss her terribly.” He drank some of his whisky and soda. “Where’s Stenness?” demanded Arthur, as though to show that he had himself under control. “He’s busy,” Sir Clinton explained. “He’s lucky to have something to be busy with,” Arthur commented. “I wish I’d something to do to take my mind off this business just now.”