Lord Radclyffe had been aroused at ten o'clock the previous night by representatives of the police, who came to break the news to him. It was not late, and the old man was not yet in bed. He had opened the front door of his house himself, his servants--he explained curtly--were spending their evening more agreeably elsewhere. The house--even to the police officers--appeared lonely and gloomy in the extreme, and the figure of the old man, who should have been surrounded by every luxury that rank and wealth can give, looked singularly pathetic as he stood in his own door-way, evidently unprotected and uncared for, and suspiciously demanding what his late visitors' business might be. Very reluctantly on hearing the latter's status he consented to admit them. He did not at first appear to suspect that anything wrong might have happened, or that anything untoward could occasion this nocturnal visit: in fact, he seemed unconscious of the lateness of the hour. He walked straight into the library, where he had obviously been sitting, for an arm-chair was drawn to the fire, a reading lamp was lighted on the table, and papers and magazines lay scattered about. The police officer in plain clothes, who stood with his subordinate, somewhat undecided, hardly knew how to begin. It was a hard task to break such awful news to this lonely old man. At last it was done; the word "accident" and "your nephew" were blurted out by the man in command. But hardly were these out of his lips than Lord Radclyffe--livid and trembling--had jumped to his feet. "Luke!" he contrived to exclaim, and his voice was almost choked, his lips and hands trembled, beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead. "Something has happened to Luke." "No, no, my lord! that's not the name--Philip was on the card and on the letters--Philip de Mountford--that was, I think, the poor gentleman's name." "And an accident has happened to Mr. Philip de Mountford?" The voice was quite different now. No longer choked with anxiety, calm and as if mildly interested in passing events. It was obvious even to the strangers present that one nephew was of far greater moment than the other. "I am afraid, my lord, that it's worse than an accident----" The officer paused a moment, satisfied that he was doing all that was necessary and possible to mitigate the suddenness of the blow. "It's foul play," he said at last; "that's what it was." "Foul play? What do you mean by that?" "Mr. Philip de Mountford has been murdered, my lord--his body now lies at the police station--would you wish him conveyed home at once, my lord--or wait until after the inquest?"