"No, it was Mr. Twombley of Crofton. He said we owed it to 'er ladyship to hemploy the best talent." "Where is the detective now?" "'E's in the long drawing-room with Mr. Twombley." "Has the inquest been held?" "No, the corpse won't be sat on till to-morrow morning." "Show me the way to the drawing-room. I don't quite remember it." The butler preceded him across the hall and throwing open a door announced in a loud voice: "Lord Wilmersley." The effect was electrical. Four men who had been deep in conversation turned and stared open-mouthed at Cyril, and one of them, a short fat man in clerical dress, dropped his teacup in his agitation. "Who?" bellowed a tall, florid old gentleman. The butler, secretly delighted at having produced such a sensation, closed the door discreetly after him. "I don't wonder you are surprised to see me. You thought I was with my regiment." "So you're the little shaver I knew as a boy? Well, you've grown a bit since then. Hah, hah." Then, recollecting the solemnity of the occasion, he subdued his voice. "I'm Twombley, friend of your father's, you know, and this is Mr. James, your vicar, and this is Mr. Tinker, the coroner, and this is Judson, celebrated detective, you know. I sent for him. Hope you approve? Terrible business, what?" "It has been a great shock to me, and I am very glad to have Judson's assistance," replied Cyril, casting a searching and apprehensive glance at the detective. He was a small, clean-shaven man with short, grey hair, grey eyebrows, grey complexion, dressed in a grey tweed suit. His features were peculiarly indefinite. His half-closed eyes, lying in the shadow of the overhanging brows, were fringed with light eyelashes and gave no accent to his expressionless face. At all events, thought Cyril, he doesn't look very alarming, but then, you never can tell. "I must condole with you on the unexpected loss of a relative, who was in every way an honour to his name and his position," said the vicar, holding out a podgy hand. Cyril was so taken aback at this unexpected tribute to his cousin's memory that he was only able to murmur a discreet "Thank you." "The late Lord Wilmersley," said the coroner, "was a most public-spirited man and is a loss to the county." "Quite so, quite so," assented Mr. Twombley. "Gave a good bit to the hunt, though he never hunted. Pretty decent of him, you know. You hunt, of course?" "I haven't done much of it lately, but I shall certainly do so in future." "Your cousin," interrupted the vicar, "was a man of deep religious convictions. His long stay in heathen lands had only strengthened his devotion to the true faith. His pew was never empty and he subscribed liberally to many charities." By Jove, thought poor Cyril, his cousin had evidently been a paragon. It seemed incredible. "I see it will be difficult to fill his place," he said aloud. "But I will do my best."