Mrs. Calladine fell. It was very pleasantly cool outside the golf-house, and of course Mark _would_ be rather glad to have them out of the way. So she consented to nine holes; and the match having ended all-square, and everybody having played much better than in the morning, they drove back to the Red House, very well pleased with themselves. “Hallo,” said Bill to himself, as they approached the house, “isn’t that old Tony?” Antony was standing in front of the house, waiting for them. Bill waved, and he waved back. Then as the car drew up, Bill, who was in front with the chauffeur, jumped down and greeted him eagerly. “Hallo, you madman, have you come to stay, or what?” He had a sudden idea. “_Don’t_ say you’re Mark Ablett’s long-lost brother from Australia, though I could quite believe it of you.” He laughed boyishly. “Hallo, Bill,” said Antony quietly. “Will you introduce me? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.” Bill, rather sobered by this, introduced him. The Major and Mrs. Calladine were on the near side of the car, and Antony spoke to them in a low voice. “I’m afraid I’m going to give you rather a shock,” he said. “Robert Ablett, Mr. Mark Ablett’s brother, has been killed.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the house.” “Good God!” said the Major. “Do you mean that he has killed himself?” asked Mrs. Calladine. “Just now?” “It was about two hours ago. I happened to come here,”—he half-turned to Beverley and explained—“I was coming to see _you_, Bill, and I arrived just after the—the death. Mr. Cayley and I found the body. Mr. Cayley being busy just now—there are police and doctors and so on in the house—he asked me to tell you. He says that no doubt you would prefer, the house-party having been broken up in this tragic way, to leave as soon as possible.” He gave a pleasant apologetic little smile and went on, “I am putting it badly, but what he means, of course, is that you must consult your own feelings in the matter entirely, and please make your own arrangements about ordering the car for whatever train you wish to catch. There is one this evening, I understand, which you could go by if you wished it.” Bill gazed with open mouth at Antony. He had no words in his vocabulary to express what he wanted to say, other than those the Major had already used. Betty was leaning across to Miss Norris and saying, “_Who’s_ killed?” in an awe-struck voice, and Miss Norris, who was instinctively looking as tragic as she looked on the stage when a messenger announced the death of one of the cast, stopped for a moment in order to explain. Mrs. Calladine was quietly mistress of herself. “We shall be in the way, yes, I quite understand,” she said; “but we can’t just shake the dust of the place off our shoes because something terrible has happened there. I must see Mark, and we can arrange later what to do. He must know how very deeply we feel for him. Perhaps we—” she hesitated.