He was greatly taken with the notion. It would create a situation ironical beyond any, grotesque beyond belief; and its development should be stupendously interesting. It attracted him irresistibly. That he should leave it to his own father to say whether a man born as he was born might aspire to marry his father's ward, had in it something that savored of tragi-comedy. It was a pretty problem, that once set could not be left unsolved by a man of Mr. Caryll's temperament. And, indeed, no sooner was the idea conceived than it quickened into a resolve upon which he set out to act. He bade Leduc call a chair, and, dressed in mourning, but with his habitual care, he had himself carried to Lincoln's Inn Fields. Engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, he paid little heed to the hum of excitement about the threshold of Stretton House. Within the railed enclosure that fronted the mansion two coaches were drawn up, and a little knot of idlers stood by one of these in busy gossip. Paying no attention to them, Mr. Caryll mounted the steps, nor noticed the gravity of the porter's countenance as he passed within. In the hall he found a little flock of servants gathered together, and muttering among themselves like conspirators in a tragedy; and so engrossed that they paid no heed to him as he advanced, nor until he had tapped one of them on the shoulder with his cane--and tapped him a thought peremptorily. “How now?” said he. “Does no one wait here?” They fell apart a little, and stood at attention, with something curious in their bearing, one and all. “My service to his lordship, and say that I desire to speak with him.” They looked at one another in hesitation for a moment; then Humphries, the butler, came forward. “Your honor'll not have heard the news?” said he, a solemn gravity in face and tone. “News?” quoth Mr. Caryll sharply, intrigued by so much show of mystery. “What news?” “His lordship is very ill, sir. He had a seizure this morning when they came for him.” “A seizure?” said Mr. Caryll. And then: “When they came for him?” he echoed, struck by something odd in the man's utterance of those five words. “When who came for him?” “The messengers, sir,” replied the butler dejectedly. “Has your honor not heard?” And seeing the blank look on Mr. Caryll's face, he proceeded without waiting for an answer: “His lordship was impeached yesterday by his Grace of Wharton on a matter concerning the South Sea Company, and Lord Carteret--the secretary of state, your honor--sent this morning to arrest him.” “'Sdeath!” ejaculated Mr. Caryll in his surprise, a surprise that was tempered with some dismay. “And he had a seizure, ye say?” “An apoplexy, your honor. The doctors are with him now; Sir James, himself, is here. They're cupping him--so I hear from Mr. Tom, his lordship's man. I'd ha' thought your honor would ha' heard. 'Tis town talk, they say.”