Michael made no reply. The perspiration was pouring down his face; he stopped only to strip off his coat before he resumed his work. “I hope you’re a better doctor than you are a detective,” said Chesney, nettled by Dorn’s attitude. “In the present case, I am as good a doctor as you are an embezzler,” said Dorn, without turning his head. “And, in any circumstances, I am a better detective than you are a crook. He’s reviving.” To Lois’ amazement, Braime’s eyelids were flickering. She saw the slow, unaided movement of his chest. “I think he’ll do now,” said Dorn, getting up and wiping his forehead. “Are you a detective?” It was the doctor who asked the question. “Sort of a one,” said Michael with a smile. “I think you’d better get him into hospital as soon as you can, doctor. Please forgive me for butting in, but I have had a case like this before.” “What is it?” demanded the puzzled medico, as the butler was lifted on to the stretcher and carried from the room. “I thought it was a stroke of some kind.” “It was a stroke of a pretty bad kind,” said Michael grimly. He did not attempt to follow the ambulance party, but, putting on his coat, he strolled round the room on what appeared to be a tour of inspection. He examined the ceiling, the floor, and ran his eye over the library table. “He fell six feet from the table, didn’t he?” he mused. He pointed to the patch of water that had discoloured the carpet. “Do you mind telling me where his feet were? He had been moved when I came in.” “Lady Moron would prefer to discuss that matter with the police when they arrive,” snapped Chesney Praye. “You’ve no right whatever to be here, you know that, Dorn.” “Will somebody tell me where his feet were?” It was Lois who pointed. “He was lying across the room.” “Of course--yes.” The puzzled Dorn stroked his chin. “You weren’t here when it happened, I suppose, Miss Reddle?” “I forbid you to answer any questions,” said the countess in her most ponderous manner. “And I completely agree with Mr. Praye that this is not a matter for outsiders. Do you suggest the man was assaulted?” “I suggest nothing,” said Dorn, and again his eyes sought Lois Reddle’s. “You have quite a lot of accidents in this house, don’t you, Miss Reddle?” he asked pleasantly. “If I were you, I think I’d go back to Charlotte Street; you’ll be safer. When I saw the ambulance at the door I must confess that I nearly died of heart failure. I thought you were the interesting subject.” Her ladyship walked to the door and opened it a little wider. “Will you please go, Mr. Dorn? Your presence is unwelcome, and your suggestion that any person in this house is in the slightest danger is most offensive to me”--she looked at Praye--“and to my friend.”