“Good Lord, no,” said Lord Caterham. “You don’t think I usually get up at this unearthly hour in the morning, do you? No, a housemaid found it. She screamed a good deal, I believe. I didn’t hear her myself. Then they came to me about it, and of course I got up and came down—and there it was, you know.” “You recognized the body as that of one of your guests?” “That’s right, inspector.” “By name?” This perfectly simple question seemed to upset Lord Caterham. He opened his mouth once or twice, and then shut it again. Finally he asked feebly. “Do you mean—do you mean—what was his name?” “Yes, my lord.” “Well,” said Lord Caterham, looking slowly round the room, as though hoping to gain inspiration. “His name was—I should say it was—yes, decidedly so—Count Stanislaus.” There was something so odd about Lord Caterham’s manner, that the inspector ceased using his pencil and stared at him instead. But at that moment a diversion occurred which seemed highly welcome to the embarrassed peer. The door opened and a girl came into the room. She was tall, slim and dark, with an attractive boyish face, and a very determined manner. This was Lady Eileen Brent, commonly known as Bundle, Lord Caterham’s eldest daughter. She nodded to the others, and addressed her father directly. “I’ve got him,” she announced. For a moment the inspector was on the point of starting forward under the impression that the young lady had captured the murderer red-handed, but almost immediately he realized that her meaning was quite different. Lord Caterham uttered a sigh of relief. “That’s a good job. What did he say?” “He’s coming over at once. We are to ‘use the utmost discretion.’” Her father made a sound of annoyance. “That’s just the sort of idiotic thing George Lomax would say. However, once he comes, I shall wash my hands of the whole affair.” He appeared to cheer up a little at the prospect. “And the name of the murdered man was Count Stanislaus?” queried the doctor. A lightning glance passed between father and daughter, and then the former said with some dignity: “Certainly. I said so just now.” “I asked because you didn’t seem quite sure about it before,” explained Cartwright. There was a faint twinkle in his eye, and Lord Caterham looked at him reproachfully. “I’ll take you to the Council Chamber,” he said more briskly. They followed him, the inspector bringing up the rear, and darting sharp glances all around him as he went, much as though he expected to find a clue in a picture frame, or behind a door. Lord Caterham took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, flinging it open. They all passed into a big room panelled in oak, with three long windows giving on the terrace. There was a long refectory table and a good many oak chests, and some beautiful old chairs. On the walls were various paintings of dead and gone Caterhams and others.