stairs, crossed the hall, made his way
down the passage, and silently entered the room which had been the scene
of the tragedy. Wingate was standing in the midst of the debris at the
far end of the apartment, directing the operations of a servant whom he
had summoned. Shields held up his hand.

"Stop, please," he ordered quietly.

The two men both looked around.

"I was just having the room cleared up," Wingate explained.

"Presently," was the curt reply. "Please send the man away. I want a
word with you alone."

The pseudo-servant lingered, his eyes fixed upon Wingate's face. He, too,
was an underling of Grant's,--a keen, intelligent-looking man, with broad
shoulders and a powerful face. Wingate nodded understandingly.

"I will ring if I need you, John," he said quietly.

The man left the room. Wingate sat upon the arm of an easy-chair. Shields
stood looking meditatively about him, his hands thrust deep into his
coat pockets.

"What is the physician's report?" the former asked.

The inspector seemed to come back from a brown study.

"Ah! Upon Lord Dredlinton? A very good report from your point of view,
Mr. Wingate. Lord Dredlinton's death was due to exhaustion, but the
doctor certifies that he was suffering, and has been for some time, from
advanced valvular disease of the heart."

"He had not the appearance," Wingate observed, "of being a healthy man."

"He certainly was not," Shields admitted. "On the other hand, with great
care he might have lived for some time. The immediate cause of his death
was the strain of--what shall we call it, Mr. Wingate--this orgy?"

"An excellent word," Wingate agreed, his eyes fixed upon his companion.

The inspector lifted one of the packs of cards which had been dashed upon
the table and looked at them thoughtfully.

"Poker," he murmured. "By the by, where are the chips?"

"The chips?" Wingate repeated.

"Poker is one of those games, I believe, which necessitates the use of
counters or the handling of a great deal of money."

Wingate shrugged his shoulders. He made no reply. Shields took up one of
the bottles of champagne, held it to the light, poured out the remainder
of its contents and gazed with an air of surprise at the froth which
crept up the glass.

"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I do not know much about champagne, but it
seems to me that this has not been opened very long. By the by, you all
drank champagne?" he went on. "I see no trace of any spirits about.