Cyril turned very pale, but the cigarette that he was smoking did not drop from his lips. He stared at Sir Percival for some moments, and then slowly removed his cigarette. He drew a long breath before saying in a whisper: “Shot himself? Then he was bankrupt after all, and Agnes's money's gone. Why the mischief did you give her that cheque yesterday, Sir Percival?” “I thought it well that you should hear this terrible news at once,” said Sir Percival, ignoring his question. “I believe that you dined with him last night, and so you were probably the last person to see him alive. You will most certainly be questioned by the Chief Constable before the inquest.” “The Chief Constable or any other constable may question me; I don't mind. I don't suppose it will be suggested that I shot poor Dick,” said Cyril, somewhat jauntily. Sir Percival made no reply, and Cyril went on. “Good heavens! Poor old Dick! I'm sorry for him. I have good reason to be sorry. He was the best friend I had. He understood me. He wasn't too hard on a chap like me. The people in this neighbourhood think that I'm a bad egg--you probably think so too, Sir Percival; but poor Dick never joined with the others in boycotting me, though he knew more about me than any of them! And to think that all the time he was playing that game of billiards--all the time he was crossing the park with me when I was going home, he meant to put an end to himself.” “You will probably be asked some questions on this point by the Chief Constable,” said Sir Percival. “He will ask you if you can testify to his state of mind last evening. You drove back with him from the bank, I believe?” “I drove back with him, and dined with him. We had a game of billiards, the same as usual, and then he walked across the park with me, as I say. That's all I have to tell. I know nothing about his condition of mind; but he admitted to me more than once that he had had rather a bad time of it while those fools were in the bank clamouring for their money--it appears that they weren't such great fools after all. Poor old Dick! He took me up quite seriously when I suggested that he should marry Agnes. He pretended to believe that Claude was still alive, as if he didn't know as well as you or I, Sir Percival”-- “There is every likelihood that Claude Westwood is alive,” said Sir Percival. “What--Claude Westwood alive and Dick Westwood dead?” cried Cyril. “Pardon me if I seem rude, Sir Percival, but what on earth are you talking about?” “I have told you all that I know,” said Sir Percival. “Your sister got a telegram an hour ago telling her that a London newspaper contains a piece of exclusive news regarding Claude Westwood, and the information is described as accurate beyond question.”