“That I can’t exactly say, sir. He had a call to make on some one in the neighbourhood, but I don’t know who the person was. His intention, sir—Sir Guy’s—was to catch the early morning train for London at Mitbourne.” The Chief Constable glanced at Mr. Fransemmery. “Markenmore Hollow is on the side of the downs’ path to Mitbourne,” he whispered, in an aside. “You’ve not seen or heard of him since he went out of this house at ten-thirty, then, Braxfield?” he went on, turning again to the old butler. “Heard—nothing?” “I, sir? No, sir. Neither seen nor heard.” “What is all this?” asked the solicitor suddenly. “Has something happened?” “I’d better tell you straight out,” answered the Chief Constable. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “I don’t want the young people to be alarmed,” he said. “You must break it gently to them, Chilford, as you’re the family solicitor. The fact is, Guy Markenmore’s body has been found, up there on the downs, at the place called Markenmore Hollow. He——” Braxfield let out a sharp cry. His usually rosy face paled. “Body!” he exclaimed. “Then——” “Steady, my friend!” said the Chief Constable. “Keep calm! Yes—he’s dead—and I’m afraid—in fact—there’s no doubt about it—he’s been murdered!” Braxfield burst into tears. And Mr. Fransemmery, gently taking the old man by the arm, led him away into one of the deep window-places, soothing him. Meanwhile, the Chief Constable rapidly narrated the events of the morning to Chilford and Harborough. The solicitor’s grave face grew still graver. “You’re sure—from what you’ve seen already—that it’s a case of murder?” he asked at last. “Haven’t one doubt,” affirmed the Chief Constable. “Murder! We shall have to go deeply into his doings, his whereabouts, between half-past ten last night and early this morning. According to the police-surgeon he was shot about four o’clock. What was he doing?—where was he?—in that interval? You live in Markenmore, Chilford, don’t you?” “Outskirts,” answered Chilford, “but he never came to see me, if that’s what you’re thinking of. I didn’t know he’d been here, till just now.” “I suppose he didn’t come to see you, Mr. Harborough?” asked the Chief Constable. “No,” said Harborough. “Certainly not.” “I thought you’d probably known each other before he left home,” said the Chief Constable. “Well, there’s a lot to do, Chilford; you’d better go and tell his brother and sister and prepare them. His body will be brought here—presently—and the inquest will be held here. Break it to them—they’ve got to know.” Chilford nodded, and silently left the room. Braxfield, wiping his eyes, came back. “You’ll excuse my emotion, gentlemen,” he said. “Forty years’ service in this family, you know—like my own, if I may say so. Come to the morning-room, gentlemen, if you please—there’s a good fire there, by now; this room’s never used, and it’s too cold to stay in.”