All about was an air of drama, heightened by the intensity of public feeling and the fact that the court was set on the actual scene of the crime. Marling felt the eyes and ears of the world bent in its direction. It rather enjoyed the feeling, but nevertheless went sternly, and with due solemnity, about its duty. Anthony nodded to Boyd, shook hands with Deacon, ignored Hastings and Margaret Warren, already seated at the press table, and ran an eye over the jury. The sight depressed him. “Mutton!” he murmured. The coroner rapped the table, cleared his throat, and opened the court. Five minutes later Superintendent Boyd turned to address a remark to Colonel Gethryn. But Colonel Gethryn was no longer there. Nor, apparently, was he anywhere else in the room. Boyd shrugged his shoulders. Anthony was in the hall. In the far corner, by the front door, stood a knot of servants. They were clearly absorbed in their talk. On the steps were two policemen, their blue backs towards him. Slowly, Anthony mounted the wide, curving staircase. Once out of sight from below, his pace quickened to a run. On the first floor he found his hopes realised. It was depopulated. As he had calculated, the whole household was downstairs. 3 The court adjourned at fifteen minutes to two. Hastings and a different, softer, more charming than ever Margaret Warren were given lunch by Anthony in his sitting-room at the Bear and Key. The meal over, Margaret was given the one comfortable chair, Hastings sat on the table, and Anthony leaned against the mantelpiece. “Now, my children,” he said, “I have congratulated you, I have filled your stomachs. To work. What of the crowner’s quest?” “Adjourned till three-thirty,” said Hastings, “when, after a quarter of an hour’s cosy talk, they’ll bring in a red-hot verdict of willful murder aganst the hulking private secretary. We needn’t go back, I think. There’s one of our men there. He’ll take the rest of the report; and it’s all over except the shouting.” Anthony nodded. “No, you needn’t stay.” “_I_,” said Margaret, “don’t think the secretary had anything to do with it. Not with those sort of eyes—he couldn’t.” Hastings guffawed. “I agree with you, Miss Warren,” Anthony said. “And it was the eyes which made me think that way.” Hastings exploded. “Oh! I say! But——” “Quiet, dog!” Anthony waved him to silence. “I am Richard on the Spot. The case is mine, and I say that Archibald Deacon’s a non-starter. Children, I am about to question you. Make ready.” Hastings cast his smile. Margaret produced a notebook.