"Is there any news, George?" his wife asked. He shook his head. "There never is," he answered. "The evening papers aren't worth looking at now. Shocking murder, by the bye, at one of the big hotels." Deane turned slowly round. "A murder?" he repeated. His host nodded as he lit a cigarette. "Fellow just arrived in the country," he remarked,--"supposed to have had a lot of money in his pocket. Found dead in his room at about seven o'clock to-night." "Do you remember the name of the hotel?" asked Deane. Lord Nunneley glanced at the paper which he still held in his hand. "The Universal," he answered,--"that huge new place, you know, near the Strand." "Was the murderer caught?" Deane asked. "Arrested just as he was leaving the hotel," Lord Nunneley answered,--"at least they arrested the man they thought had done it. Here's the paper, if you have a taste for horrors." Deane stood perfectly still for several minutes. Lady Olive was buttoning her gloves, and did not notice him. Her mother was standing at the further end of the room, helping herself to coffee. Lord Nunneley alone was conscious of the change in his guest's expression. "Nothing wrong, I hope, Deane?" he asked. "You didn't know the fellow, by any chance, did you?" Deane shook his head. He spoke very quietly and very distinctly. Except that he was unusually pale, his manner showed no signs of emotion. And yet, all the time he felt that he was being stifled! In his ears was the singing of tragedy! "No!" he said. "I never heard of him in my life." He crossed the room to help Lady Olive with her cloak. "Stay and have a smoke with me," Lord Nunneley suggested. "I am going round to the club in about an hour's time, and then I am going to pick these people up at a ball somewhere." "You are very kind," Deane answered. "To tell you the truth, I have just remembered a very important letter which I ought to have written. If you will excuse me, I am going to hurry away at once. I should like to catch my secretary before he leaves." Lord Nunneley nodded. "You will have to get him to give it up," he said to his daughter. "Fancy having to write a business letter at ten o'clock at night! Perfect slavery!" "Shall I see you to-morrow, Stirling?" Lady Olive asked, walking with him into the hall. "We'll lunch, if you like," he said. "Or shall I come to tea? I shall not be busy much after noon." "I am not quite sure what I have to do to-morrow," she answered, "but I think that I would rather that you came here. We'll meet sometime, anyhow. Good-bye!" He raised her fingers to his lips. "Enjoy yourself," he said. She shrugged her shoulders. "Absolutely a duty dance," she murmured, waving her hand. "I know that I shall be bored to death! By the bye, Stirling, don't forget that in about three weeks' time I want you to give a luncheon party at the Carlton to Julia and her husband, and some of the others." "As soon as you like," Deane answered.