He turned to Anthony and Peter Daventry. “You two gentlemen are going to the Lodge now, of course. Good-night. I shall see you in the morning, too.” The three shook hands, and Goodall and Clegg swung off to the delights afforded by the hospitality of the “Red Dolphin.” Bathurst pointed to a smart car that was drawn up in the station-yard. “Ours—I think, Daventry,” he said. An equally smart chauffeur swung from the driver’s seat and touched his cap. “Assynton Lodge, sir?” he inquired of Bathurst. They entered and the car purred its way to its destination. It was not long before they found themselves sweeping up the drive that took them to the main entrance. “Nine minutes’ run,” announced Bathurst. Charles Stewart met them in the hall. “I got your telegram, Mr. Daventry,” he said, “and I’ve arranged for dinner to be served for you directly you are ready.” “Thanks—that’s extremely good of you,” responded Peter, “and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve been able to bring somebody with me—as you suggested—this gentleman is Mr. Anthony Bathurst. He will be pleased to help you in any way whatever.” “It’s a great relief to know that,” replied Stewart. “Butterworth”—he turned to the butler—“show these gentlemen to their rooms—you’re on the second floor,” he explained. Butterworth carried out his instructions quietly and efficiently. “Dinner will be served in half an hour, gentlemen,” he announced. “I have arranged that we three dine alone,” said Stewart upon their return. “Miss Lennox—my late father’s ward—has a bad headache and begs to be excused, and Mr. Llewellyn, my father’s secretary, dined earlier as he is very busy. My father’s sudden and tragic death has entailed, as you may guess, a tremendous amount of important correspondence.” His fingers drummed on the table-cloth. “My father’s solicitors are Messrs. Crake and Ferguson, of New York. I have had a cable sent to them to-day—till I hear from them I don’t exactly know how matters altogether stand financially.” Peter Daventry expressed his sympathy. “Mr. Stewart,” said Bathurst, “I am delighted to take this case for you—though, of course, very sincerely deploring the sad circumstances and your own personal loss. If it isn’t asking too much of you—would you be good enough to tell me all you know of the facts of the case—take your own time and tell me entirely in your own way?” “Before you start, Mr. Stewart,” intervened Peter, impetuously, “have you heard of the other——” but a well-directed kick on the shin from Bathurst under the table dried up the torrent of his information quite abruptly but most effectively. “Don’t worry Mr. Stewart, Daventry,” said Anthony gravely. “Let him tell us as I suggested.” Stewart proceeded to tell the story of his father’s death. Soon came Bathurst’s first interruption.