Why was the major so long? She had expressly requested him to be quick; it seemed to her to be a frightful time since he had gone. What could be keeping him? She would have liked to call to him, but she did not dare. Something must be keeping him which perhaps she ought to know. She was suddenly afraid of what the major might have learnt. She would go and see what it was. She hobbled across the hall, ignoring the pain which each movement gave her, bent on being stayed by nothing. She passed into the room through whose door the major had vanished. It was brightly lit. He had switched on the lights, but he was not there. She listened. All was so still. He might be in the room beyond. She had walked thirty miles with much greater ease than she traversed those less than thirty feet. More than once she had to stop. It needed all her self-control to keep from crying out; she was conscious that beads of perspiration were on her brow, induced either by the effort or the pain. When she came to the door leading to the other room she had to lean against it on one foot, the agony of putting the other to the ground had become so great. She turned the handle and, somehow, went through. That room was also lighted, the electrics serving to show that it was in a state of singular confusion. The fine old furniture was all anyhow; chairs, tables, ornaments were overturned; scarcely anything seemed in its place. But she had found the major. He was on his knees about the centre of the room, leaning over something which was recumbent on the floor, something by which he was so engrossed that, plainly, her entrance had gone unnoticed. His unconsciousness of her presence affected her unpleasantly. When he continued to ignore her, her heart stood still. She stole closer towards him, again resolute to disregard her suffering foot. She came to a point at which she could see what he was looking at--and she saw. On the floor, in the centre of a sort of circle formed by ill-used articles of furniture, a man was lying--very quietly. It was Mr. Noel Draycott. "Is he dead?" Although she asked the question in a whisper, it seemed to be more audible than if she had shouted it. Major Reith looked up at her, showing no signs of being startled or of being taken unawares. His eyes met hers steadily. "I'm afraid he is." He could hardly have spoken in more even tones, yet one knew that it was not because he was unmoved. There was silence. Her glance was wandering round the room. What she saw was eloquent; its condition so plainly showed what a scene of violence it had witnessed. She pressed her hand again to her side. She tried to speak, but the words would not come. He saw something of what she was enduring. "You can do nothing. You are in pain. Let me take you to your room." She shook her head. Then words came; she spoke as if her throat had all at once grown dry and husky. "How did it happen?" "He was killed with this."