“Lady Eileen, she come down by the 3.40, and two gentlemen with her, an American gent, and a young Army chap—neither of them with valets. His lordship come down with a foreign gentleman, the one that’s been shot as likely as not, by the 5.40, and the foreign gentleman’s valet. Mr. Eversleigh come by the same train. Mrs. Revel came by the 7.25, and another foreign-looking gentleman came by it too, one with a bald head and a hook nose. Mrs. Revel’s maid came by the 8.56.” Johnson paused, out of breath. “And there was no one for the _Cricketers_?” Johnson shook his head. “He must have come by car then,” said the inspector. “Johnson, make a note to institute inquiries at the _Cricketers_ on your way back. We want to know all about any strangers. He was very sunburnt, that gentleman. Likely as not, he’s come from foreign parts too.” The inspector nodded his head with great sagacity, as though to imply that that was the sort of wide-awake man he was—not to be caught napping under any consideration. The car passed in through the Park gates of Chimneys. Descriptions of that historic place can be found in any guide book. It is also No. 3 in _Historic Homes of England_, price 21s. On Thursdays, chars-à-bancs come over from Middlingham and view those portions of it which are open to the public. In view of all these facilities, to describe Chimneys would be superfluous. They were received at the door by a white-headed butler whose demeanour was perfect. “We are not accustomed,” it seemed to say, “to having murder committed within these walls. But these are evil days. Let us meet disaster with perfect calm, and pretend with our dying breath that nothing out of the usual has occurred.” “His lordship,” said the butler, “is expecting you. This way, if you please.” He led them to a small cosy room which was Lord Caterham’s refuge from the magnificence elsewhere, and announced them. “The police, my lord, and Dr. Cartwright.” Lord Caterham was pacing up and down in a visibly agitated state. “Ha! inspector, you’ve turned up at last. I’m thankful for that. How are you, Cartwright? This is the very devil of a business, you know. The very devil of a business.” And Lord Caterham, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied fashion until it stood upright in little tufts, looked even less like a peer of the realm than usual. “Where’s the body?” asked the doctor, in curt business-like fashion. Lord Caterham turned to him as though relieved at being asked a direct question. “In the council chamber—just where it was found—I wouldn’t have it touched. I believed—er—that that was the correct thing to do.” “Quite right, my lord,” said the inspector approvingly. He produced a notebook and pencil. “And who discovered the body? Did you?”