"Whew! Rather a marvellous happening, I must say," gave out Cleek, laying a hand upon her shaking shoulder and edging her tenderly toward the open door of that little ante-room into which he had been shown only that morning, when the old laird himself had entered upon their conversation, with his lady in attendance. And now he was dead! murdered! It seemed indeed hardly credible. "Sit down awhile, and then tell me at your leisure all the happenings which took place. Got any brandy in the house? Or have you had some? No? Well, I've always a flask handy. Now, take a pull at this, and then lean back in that chair and close your eyes. You'll be a different person, I assure you. Here's my flask. Make it a good peg, too." Dumbly she did as she was bidden, acting as a sick child does, without question, and thankful only for a directing hand. Meanwhile, Cleek stood over her, watching how the colour ebbed slowly back into her pallid cheeks and the red crept again into her blue lips, and congratulating himself that he had been just in time, and no more, before she would have fainted. She shut her eyes as he had told her, and when a few minutes had elapsed, Cleek leaned forward and touched her gently upon the wrist. "Now let's hear all about it--if you're able. Where is your stepmother?" "Upstairs in her room--prostrate." She spat the words out with positive venom. "Ross is with his father, bowed down with grief, poor old boy; while his fiancee, Cynthia Debenham, who came back with him, and her cousin, Catherine Dowd, are in the house somewhere, seeing to the necessary household arrangements." "And you've telephoned the police?" "Yes. And then signalled to you. They'll be along presently, I suppose?" "Possibly--yes. I'd have brought my own man if I had only known. Mr. Narkom will be here in the morning to take charge of affairs. I sent for him to-day. And the rest of the household?" "Cyril is with his mother. Wakened up out of his sleep, poor boy, by all the commotion, and of course hardly aware yet of what a terrible tragedy has happened here in his own home. The servants are huddled together like frightened rabbits, and the women refuse to put in any appearance at all. Miss McCall has been trying to get them in hand--she's so quiet and yet so resourceful, you know, Mr. Deland--and she has helped us such a lot in that way." "And that accounts for every one, then? No one left the house since the--the thing took place?" "Not a soul. There was no reason to, you see. And no one has been here, either. Callers to Aygon Castle are few and far between, Mr. Deland, as you can imagine. We're so very far from civilization."