He spoke in a pedantic, self-satisfied voice, and introduced himself as Mr. Raphael Princkley, and his companion as Mr. Jonas Stiles, both undergraduates of Queen's College, Oxford. "We are helping Chase in his work," continued Mr. Princkley. "It is little we can do, but you are no doubt acquainted with the poetry of Robert Browning: 'The little more, and how much it is'? In that line we find our justification." The fair-haired youth rang the bell for the housekeeper. She was an old woman, fat and slow, and she took her time in answering the summons. "Mrs. Wither, have you called Mr. Chase?" he asked when the old lady appeared at the door. "No, Mr. Princkley, sir," she replied. "You told me yesterday evening not to disturb him on any account until he rang." Mr. Princkley turned to Warrisden. "Mr. Chase was unwell all yesterday," he said, "and at dinner-time he told us that he felt unequal to his duties. He was sitting in that empty place, and we both advised him not to overtax his strength." He appealed with a look to Mr. Stiles for corroboration. "Yes; we both advised him," said Stiles, between two mouthfuls; "and, very wisely, he took our advice." "He rose from his chair," continued Princkley. "There was some fruit upon the table. He took an apple from the dish. I think, Stiles, that it was an apple which he took?" Mr. Stiles agreed, and went on with his dinner. "It was certainly an apple which he took. He took it in his hand." "You hardly expected him to take it with his foot!" rejoined Warrisden, politely. Warrisden was growing a little restive under this detailed account of Chase's indisposition. "No," replied Princkley, with gravity. "He took it in quite a natural way, and went upstairs to his sitting-room. I gave orders to Mrs. Wither that he must not be disturbed until he rang. That is so, Mrs. Wither, is it not? Yes. I thank you." "That was yesterday evening!" cried Warrisden. "Yesterday evening," replied Mr. Princkley. "And no one has been near him since?" Then Mrs. Wither intervened. "Oh yes. I went into Mr. Chase's room an hour afterwards. He was sitting in his armchair before the grate----" "Holding the apple in his hand. I think. Mrs. Wither, you said?" continued Stiles. "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Wither. "He had his arm out resting on the arm of the chair, and the apple was in his hand." "Well, well!" exclaimed Warrisden. "I told him that I would not call him in the morning until he rang, as he wanted a good rest." "What did he say?" asked Warrisden. "Nothing, sir. As often as not he does not answer when he is spoken to."