They went across the lawn, the detective still dilating on the charms of a country life, and entered the wood. If they had not followed exactly the line taken by Heyton in the morning, they had touched it now and again; and when they reached the edge of the lake, Mr. Jacobs looked round in a casual way and presently seated himself on the big stone on which Heyton had sat while he dressed himself. Mr. Jacobs obviously was delighted with the lake and its surroundings; and the Inspector would not have been surprised if the great detective had proposed a swim; but he stopped short of that eccentricity and they returned to the house. They went into the state rooms, which received Mr. Jacobs' unstinted admiration, and were crossing the hall to the little sitting-room which had been set apart for him, when Celia met them. She was very pale, and her brows were drawn together by trouble and anxiety; for a great deal of responsibility had fallen suddenly on her shoulders. Though a duly qualified nurse was in possession of the sick-room, Mrs. Dexter and Celia were assisting her; and Celia had Miriam almost entirely on her hands; for Miriam was almost in a state of collapse. Celia had expected her to break down; but there was something in Miriam's condition which puzzled Celia. She seemed not only overwhelmed by grief and anxiety, but to be possessed of a nervous terror which expressed itself in an avoidance of her husband. Lord Heyton had asked after his wife several times that day; but Miriam had refused to see him, and once, when Celia ventured to plead with her, and to try to persuade her to allow Lord Heyton to come into the room, Miriam had sprung at the door and leant with her back against it, panting, with absolute terror, and with a look of horror on her face which at once stopped all Celia's attempts at persuasion. For a time, Miriam paced up and down the room, like one distraught, continually muttering, "Will he die? Will it be murder?" But at last Celia had succeeded in getting the hysterical woman to bed, where she lay, exhausted by her emotions. Celia was on her way to ask Doctor Scott for a sleeping draught, when she was met by the detective and the Inspector. "Miss Grant, the librarian," murmured the Inspector; and Mr. Jacobs bowed politely. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grant," he said. "Wish it were in happier circumstances. How is the Marquess now?" "Still the same," replied Celia. "He is not yet conscious." "Dear me; dear me!" murmured Mr. Jacobs, sympathetically. "Now, my dear young lady, may I ask you a favour--I don't want to trouble the doctor, he's got quite enough to do; so have you, no doubt, for that matter; but you know what doctors are?--What I want you to do, if you will be so kind, and if you should be in the room and the Marquess recovers consciousness, is to just send to me in the sitting-room here and let me know."