And, quite satisfied that she would not move from the side of the handsome young fellow, he went out at once. Although, in the close, stifling atmosphere of the cellar, absorbed in grief and anxiety of the most bitter kind, Deborah fancied that she passed an hour kneeling by the side of the unconscious man, with her fingers tightly pressing together the sides of the ghastly wound in his chest, it was really not more than seven minutes before the policeman came back with a doctor. “There’s a gentleman just got into the house from the back, miss,” said the constable. “He doesn’t seem to know anything of what’s been going on, and I haven’t told him, but he asked if there was a lady here, and I told him there was.” “A gentleman!” echoed Deborah, as she rose from the floor, and staggered, overcome by the stifling heat. She glanced down at Rees. He was in the doctor’s hands now; she could do no more for him. She was glad to escape out of this horrible den, and she climbed up the ladder to the ground floor without further question. A short, fair man, with a strong sense of his own importance apparent in his face and bearing, but evidently suffering for the time from some deep anxiety, was waiting in the passage. He carried a lamp which Deborah had seen on the table at Rees Pennant’s lodgings, and by its light she recognised the Honorable Charles Cenarth, keeper of the regalia. “My niece, Marion, followed her father and you to a house in St. Martin’s-lane, and then she drove to my house and brought me here. She was afraid of coming alone, lest he should be angry. And a young man who was hovering about outside showed me the way to this place----” “Sep Jocelyn,” murmured Deborah. “And told me he thought my brother had come here. Perhaps you, Miss Audaer, can tell me where Lord St. Austell is.” Deborah paused. She had no fear of inflicting a very severe wound on this deliberate gentleman by informing him of his elder brother’s death. It was pretty well known that the Honorable Charles looked upon the earl chiefly as the man who stood between him and the title. “You are Lord St. Austell now,” she said, gently. He honored the announcement with a start of surprise, but made no show of being deeply affected. There was a pause. “How was it?” he asked, trying to keep his hands out of the pockets to which they instinctively felt their way. “He was murdered, I think, by Amos Goodhare,” she answered in a whisper. “Dear me, how very stupid of him to trust himself with Amos,” said the new earl, fretfully. “Have they caught him yet?” “Not yet, I think.” “Then I hope they won’t! I hope to God they won’t! It’s an awkward position, don’t you see? And the fellow does say such unpleasant things.” Deborah was disgusted. But she had something of importance to say to this phlegmatic gentleman, and it was perhaps fortunate in one way that he was unemotional. “I have a favor to ask of you,” she said.