“Very good, Hume. Evidently to remonstrate with you is to waste one’s breath. I will try another way.” Taking him up in my arms I carried him towards the door. “I am going to put you outside my room, and, before you attempt to enter it again, I trust that you will have learnt at least the rudiments of decent manners. Out you go!” And out he went. Depositing him on the floor in the corridor, I locked the door in his face. He banged against it with his fist. “You shall pay for this!” “Very good; render your account. I will render you such moneys as are due.” “Morley, I forbid you to say a word to him at your peril.” I turned to my visitor. “I beg, Mr. Morley, that you will take a seat. Pray do not heed our excitable friend. Just now he can hardly be said to have the full control of his senses--as you yourself perceive. As you remarked, I am John Ferguson, the friend of Mr. Edwin Lawrence. You, I take it, are in the service of his brother, Mr. Philip.” Mr. Morley’s calmness had not perceptibly increased. He seemed impressed by the way in which I had handled Hume; and, also, disposed to be influenced by the doctor’s express commands to hold his tongue; he was like a man between two stools. “Yes, sir, I’m in Mr. Philip’s service; but I think that perhaps the doctor’s right, and I oughtn’t to talk about my master.” “Possibly, Mr. Morley; but you have spoken of him already. You have accused him of murder.” “No, sir, not that!” “Just now, in the presence of Dr. Hume and myself, you expressed your belief that Mr. Philip had killed Mr. Edwin.” “Oh no, sir, not that; I didn’t go so far as that. I didn’t mean it if I did.” “What you meant is another question; that is what you said. I may tell you, Mr. Morley, that I am not of your opinion. I do not believe that Mr. Philip had any hand whatever in his brother’s death.” “No, sir? I--I’m glad to hear it.” “Very soon you will receive from his own lips an explanation which will blow all your doubts away. I believe that he will clear the whole thing up at once, if you will take me to him.” Mr. Morley’s jaw dropped open. “Take you to him? But that--that’s just it. I don’t know where he is. Isn’t he--here?” He looked about him as if he half expected to discover Philip Lawrence hidden behind a curtain or under a table. “Do I understand you to mean that your master has not returned all night?” “Yes, sir; that’s what I do mean, and that’s what makes me so--concerned. He’s a gentleman of regular habits--most regular; and I’ve never known him to stop out all night before without giving me warning.” I felt that, in that case, he must indeed be a gentleman of most regular habits. “Where does Mr. Philip Lawrence live?” “In Arlington Street; that’s his London address.” “When did he go out?” “After midnight, in--in a towering rage.” “In a towering rage? With whom?”