“You’ve certainly had a good deal of trouble at Markenmore, Braxfield,” said the Chief Constable, sympathetically. “Must have been a time of great anxiety to everybody who’d lived a quiet life hitherto, as I think you’ve done.” Braxfield shook his head again, and looked as mournful as his garments. “It’s not been so much the trouble, sir, nor yet the anxiety, though both have been bad enough, as the continual surprises!” he answered. “One after the other they’ve come, till my poor head has fairly ached under them! Mr. Guy’s coming—his father’s death—that dreadful murder—hearing that my stepdaughter was married, secret-like, to Sir Harry, as we then thought him—this little boy being brought and presented as the real heir—and all the rest of it; dear me, sir, it’s as if you didn’t know whatever to expect next!” “Ah, well, you’ll get settled down in time, Braxfield,” remarked the Chief Constable. “The little boy is, of course, a great surprise. How does Mr. Harry take the sudden change in his fortunes?” “Mr. Harry, sir, and Miss Valencia,” replied Braxfield, “have taken the matter in the best way possible. The little gentleman—Sir Guy, of course—has been welcomed in the warmest fashion; he is already made as much of by his uncle and aunt as if they’d known him from his cradle. Family feeling, sir, is strong in such houses as ours!” “I suppose Mr. Harry was fond of his father, Sir Anthony?” asked the Chief Constable, with an almost imperceptible side-glance at Blick. “Very constant in attendance upon him, I believe?” “Mr. Harry, sir,” answered Braxfield, “was a very good son to his father, especially as Sir Anthony drew near his latter end. He was for ever at his bedside—never left him, except when Miss Valencia took his place.” “Was he with him when he died?” enquired the Chief Constable, coming at last to the question which Blick desired to have answered. “He was, sir! Mr. Harry,” said Braxfield, “was with my late master all that night, from the time Mr. Guy went away until Sir Anthony died—which he did in a light sleep. Yes, sir, Mr. Harry has nothing to reproach himself for in respect of his behaviour to his father—and I would have wished, sir, that he had come into the title and estates. But the law, I believe, is the law, sir, as you know better than I do—and all Markenmore, and the old title belongs to the little boy! Strange changes, sir, indeed, but you’ll excuse me, gentlemen—I see our groom waiting for me in our trap, and I’ve still a little shopping to do.” The old butler hurried away after a polite bow, and the Chief Constable turned to Blick. “That disposes of any question of Harry Markenmore’s possible guilt,” he murmured. “He spent that night by his father’s bedside. So he couldn’t have been at Markenmore Hollow.” “Never thought he had,” said Blick. “But I think his automatic pistol was there. And now I’m going back to the Sceptre, to get my much-needed supper, and think a bit.”