Jack Knebworth was ten minutes on the telephone before he succeeded in getting a reply from Stella’s cottage. “It’s Knebworth speaking, Miss Mendoza,” he said. “Is it possible to see you to-night? Mr. Brixan wants to speak to you.” “At this hour of the night?” she said in sleepy surprise. “I was in bed when the bell rang. Won’t it do in the morning?” “No, he wants to see you particularly to-night. I’ll come along with him if you don’t mind.” “What is wrong?” she asked quickly. “Is it about Gregory?” Jack whispered a query to the man who stood at his side, and Michael nodded. “Yes, it is about Gregory,” said Knebworth. “Will you come along? I’ll have time to dress.” Stella was dressed by the time they arrived, and too curious and too alarmed to make the hour of the call a matter of comment. “What is the trouble?” she asked. “Mr. Foss is dead.” “Dead?” She opened her eyes wide. “Why, I only saw him yesterday. But how?” “He has been murdered,” said Michael quietly. “His head has been found on Chobham Common.” She would have fallen to the floor, had not Michael’s arm been there to support her, and it was some time before she recovered sufficiently to answer coherently the questions which were put to her. “No, I didn’t see Mr. Foss again after he left the Towers, and then I only saw him for a few seconds.” “Did he suggest he was coming back again?” She shook her head. “Did Sir Gregory tell you he was returning?” “No.” She shook her head again. “He told me he was glad to see the last of him, and that he had borrowed fifty pounds until next week, when he expected to make a lot of money. Gregory is like that—he will tell you things about people, things which they ask him not to make public. He is rather proud of his wealth and what he calls his charity.” “You had a luncheon engagement with him?” said Michael, watching her. She bit her lip. “You must have heard me talking when I left him,” she said. “No, I had no luncheon engagement. That was camouflage, intended for anybody who was hanging around, and we knew somebody had been in the house that night. Was it you?” Michael nodded. “Oh, I’m so relieved!” She heaved a deep sigh. “Those few minutes in that dark room were terrible to me. I thought it was——” She hesitated. “Bhag?” suggested Michael, and she nodded. “Yes. You don’t suspect Gregory of killing Foss?” “I suspect everybody in general and nobody in particular,” said Michael. “Did you see Bhag?” She shivered. “No, not that time. I’ve seen him, of course. He gives me the creeps! I’ve never seen anything so human. Sometimes, when Gregory was a little—a little drunk, he used to bring Bhag out and make him do tricks. Do you know that Bhag could do all the Malayan exercises with the sword! Sir Gregory had a specially made wooden sword for him, and the way that that awful thing used to twirl it round his head was terrifying.” Michael stared at her.