When Lowther had fetched the lamp Westerham took it and began rapidly to examine round the ground floor of the rambling building. He was seeking for the courtyard into which Melun had fallen. At last they found it, and found, too, all that remained of Melun. He was battered and crushed and bruised almost beyond recognition. Westerham set his face and straightened the twisted and distorted body out. Then began the grim task of searching the dead man's clothes. He turned out every pocket, and with a knife ripped open every lining. But the papers which he sought were not there. He straightened himself, and picking up the lamp led the way back into the house. By this time Kathleen, though very pale and still shaken, was quite composed. Indeed, she was now more self-possessed than the Premier. She was doing her utmost to quiet his still painful agitation. Westerham looked into Kathleen's face, and seeing how strong and resolute it was, felt no hesitation in speaking before her. “Lord Penshurst,” he said, very quietly, “Melun is dead.” The Premier glanced at him quickly and then turned to his daughter. “Thank heaven!” he cried. “Hush,” said Kathleen, gently, and taking her father by the arm she pointed to Mme. Estelle. Mendip had done what he could, and the unhappy woman had, to some extent, come back to consciousness. She was indeed sufficiently alive to catch Westerham's words. She brought her fast fading eyes down from the ceiling and searched Westerham's face. “Melun!” she muttered to herself: “Melun!” Westerham drew near and knelt down by the couch. He took one of her hands, which was even then growing cold. “Melun?” she asked again in a voice scarcely above a whisper. Westerham put his mouth down to her ear and said slowly, “He is dead.” The shock of the news acted on the woman in a most extraordinary way. With a convulsive movement she suddenly gathered herself together and sat bolt upright on the couch. She would have fallen back again had not Westerham caught her in his arms. “The papers!” she gasped. “Yes?” said Westerham, kindly and soothingly. “Where are they?” With a faint movement she pointed towards Westerham's feet. “There!” she gasped. To Westerham it seemed as if she were already beginning to wander in her mind, but he said still kindly and soothingly, “Yes, yes, I know! But where?” The woman opened her mouth and made two or three efforts before she spoke again, and then she only breathed the word “Boots!” Westerham's gaze wandered over the sideboard. “See if you can find any brandy,” he said to Mendip. Mendip could find no brandy, but brought some almost neat whisky over in a glass. Westerham took the glass from Mendip's hand and pressed it to Mme. Estelle's lips. She revived a little, and suddenly spoke clearly and in almost her normal voice. “Sir Paul,” she said, “the papers are in your boots!”