“Great Scott!” said Cyril after a pause. “What's the meaning of this, anyway? One brother turns up alive and well after being lost in Africa for eight years, and the other--Good heavens! What can any one say when things like that are occurring under our very eyes? Why couldn't Dick have waited until the news came? He would not have shot himself if he had known that Claude was alive, I'll swear. And as for Claude--well, when he gets the news from Brackenhurst, he'll be inclined to wish that he had remained in the interior.” “They were so deeply attached to each other?” “Well, of course, Sir Percival, I can't say anything about that from my own recollection, but every one about here says they were like David and Jonathan--like Damon and the other chap. Nothing ever came between them--not even a woman; and I need hardly tell you, Sir Percival, that the appearance of the woman is usually the signal for”-- “Here is Major Borrowdaile,” said Sir Percival, interrupting the outburst of cynical philosophy on the part of the youth, as a dog-cart driven by Major Borrowdaile, the Chief Constable of the county, passed through the entrance gates. Cyril allowed himself to be interrupted without a protest. His nonchalance vanished as the officer jumped from the dog-cart and went across the lawn to him. Sir Percival took a few steps to meet Major Borrowdaile, but Cyril did not move. “You have heard of this nasty business, Sir Percival?” said the officer. “I have just come from the lodge at the Court,” replied Sir Percival. “There's no possibility of a mistake being made, I suppose? It is certain that Mr. Westwood shot himself.” “It is certain that the poor fellow was found shot through the lungs,” said the Chief Constable cautiously. “I hear that you dined with him last night, Mowbray,” he continued, turning to Cyril. “That is why I have troubled you with a visit.” “Why should you come to me?” said Cyril, almost plaintively. “I dined with Dick Westwood, and parted from him at the road gate before midnight. That's all I know about the business.” “That means you were the last person to see him alive. He must have been shot on returning to the house after letting you through the road gate.” “Must have been shot?” cried Cyril. “Why, you said he had shot himself, Sir Percival.” “He was found with a revolver close to his hand,” said Major Borrowdaile, “and the undergardener, who discovered the body, took it for granted that he had committed suicide. You see the fact that there was a run upon the bank yesterday induces some people to jump to the conclusion that he committed suicide, just as the assumption that he committed suicide will lead many people to assume that the affairs of the bank are in an unsatisfactory condition. They are bad logicians. Did he seem at all depressed in the course of the evening, Mowbray?”